


A Garden in the Way

by Elisheva_Nadir



Series: Summer Slump [1]
Category: Young Dracula (TV)
Genre: Bertrand lives, F/M, May/December Relationship, Unhealthy Relationships, Work In Progress, vampire romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:14:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 32,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27170926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisheva_Nadir/pseuds/Elisheva_Nadir
Summary: Count Dracula's new gardener is a temptation he wants to indulge in but it is a careful game of secrets revealed as the gardener slowly begins to realize the Count is a vampire.
Relationships: Count Dracula (Young Dracula)/Original Character(s)
Series: Summer Slump [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1983262
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	1. Sweet Dreams Gardener

**Author's Note:**

> This is a WIP and is part of my Summer Slump series.
> 
> Betrand lives in this one guys. Was absolutely devastated about his storyline in the series.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters with an asterisk (*) is why this story is marked E.

Magda pressed her hands into her lower back and gave a bit of a grunt while she stretched. The sun was actually quite lovely this evening as it set but Magda couldn’t help bemoaning the fact that she had cut those two university students loose after only a week. The clearing of the garden had been more challenging than anticipated and the extra hands had helped, too bad they hadn’t been there today to help one last time.

“Remind me, why do I pay a gardener again?” Magda rolled her eyes as the Counts voice carried down to her from the manor. The entirety of April had been a crash course in learning the eccentricities of working for the ultra wealthy. It almost made Magda wish for her old uni job of serving breakfast to truckers at Moe’s Diner. 

“If I have to tell you again that this whole spring and summer will be dedicated to prepping for next summer I might just break your fucking jaw,” Magda grumbled. 

“What? I can’t understand you in that infernal accent when you mumble.” Magda rolled her eyes and began a slow walk up to her cottage. She wanted a nice long soak in the tub and she didn’t want to entertain the Count this evening in their near nightly snipe sessions. 

“Get your ears checked, you’re getting old,” Magda called and waved him off, ignoring his lurking shadow in the doorway of the manor. 

By the time she had gotten her bath ready the sun was down and that meant the Count would slink his way from the Manor to the window by the tub and continue his insults if he wasn’t in the mood to read aloud. 

“I have brought The Woman in White for this evening,” came the Counts greeting as Magda opened the window. The ledge was at about chest height for Magda and would have been adequate coverage for someone who wasn’t six foot but as it was, Magda clutched her towel tight to her chest as she propped the window open. 

“Wonderful,” Magda said dryly. She vaguely remembered reading the book at uni.

“A little more appreciation is in order, I believe,” the Count chided as he settled into the chaise below the window. “As I understand it, you Americans are terribly illiterate.” Magda sighed in annoyance as she dropped her towel and climbed into the tub. The hot water felt wonderful and she was a touch too tired to drum up any sort of snappy retort or the usual fire to correct him about the fact that she was Canadian. 

“Ready whenever you are,” Magda said, pulling the sheet she draped over the claw foot tub up to almost her chin to help keep the bath water warm. 

The Count gave several exaggerated throat warmups before starting and Magda found her eyes drooping closed as the flames of the candles she had lit bounced and danced off the green glass bottles on the vanity across from her. The Count was offensive, to put it lightly, but he was an excellent narrator and it was a not so guilty pleasure to have him read to her. 

“Magda, your waters gone cold,” The Count called gently. Magda opened her eyes blearily, rolling her head to look over at the Count who was backlit in the window. She could only see his head bobbing at the window and it was an eerie site every time. Becoming more awake, Magda recoiled in the water as she realized how cold it had become. 

“All my generosity in educating you, wasted,” The Count tsked.

“You knew I was tired,” Magda countered, gathering the sheet to her chest as she sat up and rubbed at her eyes. 

“Well, if you were more considerate of my time I could have read to you earlier.” Magda just shook her head and slowly stood up, using her toes to pull the plug in the tub to let the water out. She wrapped the sheet around herself and stepped out of the tub and toward the window. The Count was fully capable of shutting the window for her seeing as it swung outward and was held open with a simple rod prop but he never did her the kindness. 

“Good night,” Magda said, looking down at the Count’s upturned face. In the evening light his hair looked inky black, almost as black as her own hair, and his pale skin was a stark contrast in all that darkness. 

“Wicked dreams, dear Gardner,” the Count said, a hint of teeth showing as he smiled. Magda made out a tiny flower that must have drifted down onto his head, just behind his ear, while he read and reached forward to pluck the flower off. Before she had a chance to draw her hand back the Count had turned his head so that he could press his lips to the inside of her wrist. “Do tell if you dream of me,” the Count said and all but melted into the darkness.


	2. A Pain In the Neck

Magda cracked her back as she finally sat up from being hunched over the kitchen table. She had taken 60 soil samples and was only halfway through testing them and marking up the property map with the results. The Count was not going to be pleased that their painstaking work at plotting the gardens and lawns was going to have to be revised again. 

“Are you done playing with dirt now?” Marie asked from the other end of the kitchen. 

“Very funny,” Magda said, shaking the skirt of her dress out as she stood. She quickly began grabbing the samples she had been working on and stored them in the cupboard that Marie had cleared out for her to use. The Manor’s kitchen was amply large enough that the reshuffling of all the cupboards items had barely caused a stir.

“What did you make tonight?” Magda asked, snapping the elastic on her notebook and tossing it aside. 

“Roasted poussin with oregano, orange, and sherry with a side of glazed carrots and pan seared potatoes.” Magda’s stomach chose that moment to growl in acknowledgement that it was finally time for supper. 

“Does the Count want to have tonight’s meal in the dinning room?” Magda asked, hovering by the plates. 

“He hasn’t said one way or the other,” Marie said, and did some sort of vague snapping motion towards a serving platter. Magda smiled and shook her head, Marie was the least odd of the people that the Count employed. 

“Impeccable manners, as always,” Magda said, grabbing the platter and handing it to Marie. 

“If you were French,”

“Yeah, yeah,” Magda said, cutting Marie off. “If I was French you wouldn’t even need to say anything, I’d just know.” 

“We just have a better way of communicating is all,” Marie said and handed the platter back to Magda with two poussin’s on it to set on the clean side of the long kitchen table. 

“So you’re staying with me to eat this time?” Magda asked.

“Just until the sun goes down,” Marie replied and placed the potatoes and carrots on the table as well.

“Red or white tonight?”

“What am I? A barbarian? We’ll do both. Grab the two bottles from the counter just over there.” Marie grabbed four wine glasses and two water glasses as well and they each tucked in for another delicious meal. Magda had never eaten so well since taking this job. 

“Mon dieu, is that the time?” Marie asked suddenly as the last of the sun’s light began to thin out and leave the kitchen darker. “I must be going.”

“We haven’t even had a whole bottle yet,” Magda said, “Why not stay for a bit longer?”

“Absolutely not,” Marie said sharply like she was want to do. “You know I do not stay past sundown. Finish the wine without me. Renfield will clean up the dishes.” Magda shrugged her shoulders and waved Marie goodbye. 

The wine was making Magda warm and the evening was actually quite lovely, it would be a shame to let the night go to waste being cooped up. Of course it would work out that the loveliest of days that they’d had in weeks would be the day that Magda had to work indoors. 

The Count found Magda stretched out on a loveseat, her feet bare as she sipped on the red wine that Marie had opened. 

“Lollygagging again I see,” the Count said, his tone snide as he folded his lithe form onto the chair opposite from Magda. “And drinking my wine no less.” Magda watched as the Count fussed with the cravat he wore. 

“It’s Marie’s wine,” Magda countered. 

“And I pay Marie, who has bought the wine, therefore, my wine.” Magda rolled her eyes and drained the last sips from her wineglass before emptying the wine bottle into her glass. 

“We need to meet tomorrow about the grounds,” Magda said. 

“We’re meeting now.”

“I’m off duty right now,” Magda said and took a long drink from her glass. 

“I’ll be unavailable tomorrow, so sorry,” the Count said, not sounding apologetic about it at all as he adjusted the gold cuffs he wore on each wrist. His affinity for ostentatious jewelry was just shy of outrageous. 

“It’s either tomorrow or I make changes without your input,” Magda said and almost chugged the absolute last of the wine. She was going to need to be drunk if she was going to have this argument with the Count. 

“Don’t be a bore,” the Count said, sounding as if he was pouting. “Just tell me.”  


“I’m drunk, I can’t think straight,” Magda said, feeling her voice go a bit whiney in pitch as she lied. 

“Then I shall be gentle in my questioning,” the Count said. Magda gasped as she suddenly felt the crushed velvet waistcoat he wore pressed into her elbow and his cool breath ghosting over her neck she had curled backward over the armrest of the chair. 

Maybe she was more drunk than she realized if the Count was able to sneak up on her so. 

“I’m serious,” Magda said, closing her eyes as she shivered. Somehow, the Count was freezing cold but it felt wonderful with how flushed Magda was. 

“As am I.” 

“You’re such a pain in my neck,” Magda moaned.

“You have no idea how much I wish to be,” The Count said, his voice gone deep and quiet. Magda shivered again, the Count was still pressed against her side, his lips hovering over her exposed neck. Feeling a tad reckless, Magda arched her neck even more so that she felt the barest brush of his lips. 

The Count was handsome but an asshole – a handsome asshole – and the seemingly endless banter never failed to irritate and excite her. With so little interaction at the Manor, and her days of being able to wander into the village limited, it was hard not to let herself slip and give in to his rakish bullying. 

“You’re such a child,” Magda whispered, her neck starting to strain from holding it up so. 

“Whatever do you mean?” The Count asked, his cool hand moving to support the back of her neck. Magda felt his lips ghost over her skin again and let herself lean into his hold. 

“Just agree to meet me tomorrow,” Magda said. 

“Convince me,” the Count said, his words coming out in almost a hiss. 

“I shouldn’t have to,” Magda said but threaded her fingers through his hair and pressed his head down so that his lips fully met her throat. It felt so good to have his cool lips press against her skin. 

“But I want you to,” said the Count and started to press soft lingering kisses along her throat. Magda swore she felt the cool slick of teeth but the Count withdrew and pressed his nose against her temple so he could whisper into her ear.

“You are drunk,” the Count observed. “It would be ungentlemanly of me to continue.” Magda felt annoyed with herself for wanting to protest so that he would stay but when Magda opened her eyes the Count had already withdrawn and she was alone on the loveseat with her empty wine bottle and glass.


	3. Compromise With Your Elders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Writing/editing on my phone. Formatting issues abound.

“We’ve gone over this,” the tight clip of Magda's words heralded the temper that crept into her tone.

“And I tire of it!” The Count thundered, his voice echoing and dipping low, almost as if there was a feral snarl to it. Magda tensed, swearing that her ears were playing with her. They were in the northeast parlor of the Manor, the room that was always the chilliest and received the least amount of sunlight and the room that the Count seemed to favor above all others. Perhaps it was a trick of the tall ceilings and the Count was just standing at the perfect spot.

“If we don’t clear the roots then we can’t place the patio where you want and then you have to move the,”

“Can you not just do as I say!” The Count shouted and Magda staggered back as he appeared suddenly in front of her. Magda shook her head, blinking her eyes rapidly. Even though it was barely past tea time the Count had the curtains on all the windows drawn tightly closed and there was a fire in the fireplace. Only a few hurricane lanterns were lit to offer some semblance of light and Magda swore it was playing with her vision.

“No,” Magda snapped. “I can’t. The estate is huge, the gardens and lawns over grown and you’re asking me to magically fix 15 years of neglect. You have to be willing to compromise if you want,”

“Compromise,” the Count all but spat and turned sharply away from Magda. In a few long strides the Count was before his favorite wingback chair by the fire and flung himself into it, the ankle length frock coat he wore billowing out for a moment in a dramatic swirl.

  
The Count stared into the fire for a long time before directing his gaze to Magda. The light of the fire caught the Count’s eyes and they fairly glowed a vivid gold.

“Compromise,” the Count repeated. “You will bend to my will and do as I say. There will be no more deviations.” Magda felt trapped by his gaze and his words felt heavy on her ears and her skin. The room, in all its muted colours, began to fade even further into gloomy darkness and the Count’s face glowed brighter and brighter. Even though she hadn’t moved an inch, Magda had the strongest sensation that she was being drawn closer and closer to the Count until all she could see was the fire of his gaze.

“Do I make myself clear?”

Magda had the errant thought of, “what a prick,” and a rush of vertigo that made her stumble as she fought for balance. Had she been falling asleep while standing? The shock of nearly falling made her skin burn sharply and she took shaky steps so that she stood before the Count. The firelight highlighted the tan of her legs and the dirt that was smeared on one thigh. It was surreal to stand next to the Count who wore linen and leather and velvet as if it were nothing and here she was wearing cutoff shorts and a canvas button-up.

“Like I said, the grounds have been neglected for 15 years. I can’t work miracles. Not on my own,” Magda felt herself trailing off, hadn’t she just told the Count this? Why did it feel like she was repeating herself?

“Hmmm,” the Count said, bringing one hand up to hold his chin in thought, his index finger gently stroking his own cheek. “Look in to my eyes,” he said and Magda saw the fire reflect off his gaze again and just rolled her eyes, turning away so she could get back to work.

“I know you think I’m young and foolish but I have degrees in this sort of stuff,” Magda said, feeling herself get fired up. “I’m not just making this difficult to piss you off. I’m giving you the best advice I can so you can restore the grounds and have them be sustainable for the land.” Magda stopped at the open door, her back to the Count as she gripped the doorframe tightly in one hand. It was moments like this where she was regretting taking this posting and making it the start of her oeuvre into sustainable grounds work.

“You are young,” the Count said, by her side in a flash, making Magda grip the doorframe even tighter in surprise. “And you must compromise with your elders.” Magda nearly bit a piece of her tongue off from clenching her teeth closed as she stormed off. The absolute nerve of him.

Later that day, Magda found herself complaining to Marie. She was sitting on one of the kitchen counters, freshly showered and plaiting her hair over and over, while she stared out the window. The sun was all but set and the torches that lighted the drive were lit, like the Count was expecting a fleet of guests.

“He makes me so mad,” Magda found herself saying again.

“He has his own brand of particular charm,” Marie said dismissively, her movements quick and sharp as she rushed about the kitchen.

“What’s going on?” Magda asked, finally realizing that Marie had prepared food for far more than for just the usual two.

“The Count is having a guest tonight,” Marie said and as if merely making a vague mention of such guest was enough to call them forward, Magda watched as a man on horseback came riding up the torch lit drive. Magda raised one eyebrow high as the guest came closer and closer. His black, curly hair, was visibly bouncing as he rode towards the Manor and Magda couldn’t help but feel more and more perplexed by his appearance the closer he got. It wasn’t entirely uncommon to see people on horseback but they were usually wearing a helmet and were in far more comfortable clothes. The man appeared to be wearing a thick cobalt coloured jacket that must have gone down to his knees.

“Is that him?” Magda asked as the man disappeared from sight. His horse didn’t slow down and he seemed to know exactly where to go even though Magda was very certain the man had never been to the Manor since the construction of the entirely unnecessary – up until now – three horse stable.

“Yes. Now go change, you look like a peasant.” Magda snorted at Marie but hopped off the countertop anyway, tugging her shorts down as she walked out of the kitchen and towards her small cottage.

When Magda returned to the Manor some 10 minutes later she was fussing with the small pearl buttons at the back of her dress. It was a vintage piece she had found on a trip to Maine some 3 years ago and never had a reason to wear the floor length dress until now. It was the loveliest shade of orange-amber and was from some short lived designer from the 70s. The material was 100% synthetic and didn’t breathe at all but Magda loved how the colour popped against her skin.

“Marie, can you get the buttons at my neck?” Magda asked as she walked back in to the kitchen. The mystery guest looked sharply up from Marie and over to Magda as if he was deeply affronted at the fact he had been interrupted.

“Oh, uh, I can, I can come back in a moment,” Magda said, holding the neck of her dress closed. Marie chuckled and even though she hadn’t been wrapped around the guest like they had been kissing she still seemed to unfurl from the guests presence and sauntered away.

“No need,” Marie said, looking over her shoulder at the man. “Bertrand was just saying hello.” Magda looked over to the man, looking for confirmation that he was Bertrand.

“Bertrand de Fortunesa,” the man said, moving to stand before Magda and take her right hand in his to mime a kiss over her knuckles. “At your service.” Magda glanced over to Marie to see that she was smiling, as if she was not so secretly going over all the different services she would love to solicit from Bertrand.

“Magda Eastman,” Magda said in reply and felt like she had to curtsey or something in return but instead she just stood there, her right hand in Bertrand’s and her left hand still clutching the neck of her dress.

“Magda?” Bertrand asked but it was directed to Marie who simply said, “Indeed,” in reply.

“Allow me,” Bertrand offered, his sharp blue gaze so intense that it was a relief that he stepped away from Magda and around to her back. Magda swept her hair over her shoulder and tried to stand perfectly still as Bertrand made short work of the three small pearl buttons at the back of her neck.

“Thank you,” Magda said stiffly, trying not to stare too hard at Bertrand as she took in his outfit a bit more. His cobalt coloured coat did reach his knees and was split in the back up to his hips, as if specifically to accommodate someone riding on a horse, and he wore knee high black boots over gray wool pants with a thick linen shirt tucked into said pants. Instead of a belt he had on braces and Magda thought he wouldn’t look out of place with a sword strapped to his back.

Magda was on the verge of asking if Bertrand was wearing fancy dress but he gave a sharp nod to both Magda and Marie before swiftly leaving the kitchen.

“So… you like, know him?” Magda asked, not sure if she wanted to take her eye off the door Bertrand had left through.

“Bertrand is a dear friend of the Count’s. I always look forward to when he visits,” Marie said and gave a slow smile. Magda felt herself smiling back at Marie in agreement that, yes, Bertrand was very handsome and rather intense.

“He’s like that, always?” Magda asked.

“He is certainly a handful,” Marie said and let out a short giggle that Magda responded in kind to. Magda wasn’t too sure how open Marie was but if she got busy with Bertrand then Magda absolutely had questions about what sex was like with him.

Magda found the Count and Bertrand already in the formal dining room, Renfield was even there, fussing over the place settings before scurrying off once he caught site of Magda. Magda cycled through disliking Renfield because of his childish superstitions and finding him tolerable. Renfield thoroughly believed that Magda was some sort of witch that would put a spell on him. At that revelation Magda had told Renfield in frustration, “I’m Ojibwe, not a witch,” but he remained squirrely as ever.

“You’re late,” the Count said in greeting from where he sat at the head of the table. Bertrand hadn’t taken a seat yet and was stood behind his dining chair, hands clasped behind his back. He had removed his coat and somehow had another jacket on, equally as long but thinner in material, and in navy blue this time.

“Trouble with the gown,” Magda replied and touched the neck of her dress as she smiled. She didn’t realize she had glanced over to Bertrand for a moment until she saw the Count take a deep breath through his nose and then cut his blue gaze over to Bertrand as if he suddenly knew Bertrand had helped Magda button her dress.

“Is that what that is called?” the Count asked dismissively and settled back into his dining chair as if he suddenly didn’t care. He was in another ankle length frock coat but it was more fitted than the one he had, had on earlier and was in a wine red with gold accents.

Marie entered the dining room at that point, having changed into a black dress, and Renfield came shortly behind her, wheeling the service cart. The dress Marie wore was simple but chic and Marie cut a dashing figure in it. The neckline was demure and cut straight across, showcasing her collarbones but didn’t boast the same large keyhole that was on the back of Magda’s dress or the thigh high slit that was only visible when Magda walked.

“Ms. Derrieux,” Bertrand said and nodded towards Marie. “Ms. Eastman,” he continued, acknowledging Magda. As if she was used to these dinner arrangements, Marie moved to stand behind a dining chair that was to the Count’s right, leaving a seat in between her and the Count. Bertrand rounded the table and pulled out the seat for Marie before Renfield could make his shuffling way towards Marie and do it.

“Ms. Eastman,” Bertrand intoned, pulling out the chair that was between Marie and the Count. Magda took the seat quickly, noting the way that the Count’s gaze became more and more heated the longer he watched Bertrand.

“Renfield,” the Count said, managing to sound as if he was hissing the name. He snapped his fingers at Renfield who quickly wheeled over the service cart and removed the domed covers that protected the evening meal.

“Seared salmon with a butter tarragon sauce and new roasted vegetables ,” Renfield said. The Count gave some sort of imperceptible nod and Renfield began to serve only Magda and Marie. Even though there were place settings in front of the Count and Bertrand, Renfield left their plates bare.

“You must excuse such an informal reception,” the Count said dryly, picking up a wine glass and waving it absently at Renfield. “We weren’t expecting company until just recently.” Renfield hurried over to a hutch in the dining room and retrieved a green, unlabeled, wine bottle. He stood to the left of the Count and filled the wine glass that the Count waived at him with maybe a quarter of an inch of red wine. The wine poured thickly, coating the walls of the glass as the Count first smelled deeply from his glass and then took a healthy swallow of the wine he had been given. The Count gave a pleased sound and held his glass out to be filled before taking another sip. Renfield moved on to fill Bertrand’s wine glass but didn’t offer any to Marie or Magda.

Magda eyed Marie, wondering if they were supposed to start eating. Marie just sat there, as if this was normal. Of the times they had eaten in the less formal dining room with the Count he had never eaten with them. He would have some wine but that was it. It was weird to see the same oddity played out with Bertrand.

“Bon appetit,” the Count said and raised his glass. Bertrand did as well but Marie didn’t raise her water glass and instead took her knife and fork in hand and began to eat the salmon. Magda followed suit with Marie and slowly ate the salmon and vegetables. Bertrand and the Count started their conversation in French before quickly switching to what Magda could only assume was Romanian.

The meal moved on to a roasted cauliflower dish and the Count and Bertrand had a different wine. They still continued to talk only to each other and Marie didn’t make any move to talk to Magda in the slightest.

Magda finally broke her silence when Renfield served the lamb with potato croquettes Marie had prepared.

“I think you’ve outdone yourself, Marie,” Magda said quietly, looking to Marie. Marie didn’t turn to look at Magda at all and simply said a curt, “Merci,” before returning to her meal.

“Bertrand, Bertrand, Bertrand,” the Count said, breaking the weird tension that had slowly been building. “I truly do tire of this talk, why don’t you take Ms. Derrieux for a stroll?”

Bertrand stared at the Count for several long beats before setting his wine glass down and rising from his seat.

“Certainly,” Bertrand finally replied and escorted Marie out of the dining room. Unsure of what to do, Magda set her silverware down and gave a quick glance over to Renfield and then the Count.

“Renfield,” the Count said and waved his hand towards the dining table. Renfield began to clear the dishes and Magda was so preoccupied with the fact that they were just ending the meal that she didn’t even realize the Count had stood and moved to her side until he offered his arm to help her stand.

“Shall we?” the Count asked. Magda looked up and hesitantly rested her hand on his arm to steady herself as she stood. “I do believe I could do with a walk as well.” Unsure of how to get out of this, Magda reluctantly followed the Count who had tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow as he lead her out into the evening.

“Have you known Bertrand long?” Magda asked, trying to make conversation. For whatever reason they hadn’t stumbled upon Bertrand and Marie and Magda had a sneaking suspicion that the two were having more horizontal rather than vertical fun.

“How boring,” the Count sighed, sounding exasperated with her. “I would rather talk of poetry,” he said and began to recite a very long, gothic sounding poem. Magda listened in silence, too caught up in wondering about how the Count knew Bertrand and what they had been talking about.

“Do you not care for Samuel Taylor Coleridge?” the Count asked.

“What?” Magda asked, stopping in her tracks.

“Coleridge. I’ve recited several of his poems but you seem,” the Count paused, thoughtful as he let his gaze rove over her face, “distracted.”

“No, he’s fine,” Magda said, looking around as she realized they had stopped below one of the oaks that was set further back from the lit driveway than the other trees.

“Perhaps something by Blake or even Keats. Wordsworth if I must,” the Count said, drawing closer to Magda. He spoke low, his gaze focused on Magda’s own. His words were measured, as if he were savoring the poetry instead of just reciting it. “One impulse from the vernal wood, can teach you more of man, of moral evil and good, than all sages can.”

Magda stood there for a moment, thinking that the Count’s voice was very pleasant and the evening was very lovely and she felt floaty in her dress but it was also a touch awkward to have someone recite poetry right at her and with such focus.

“I’ve had a long day,” Magda said, her voice soft in the quiet of the evening. The Count’s eyes fairly glowed with the distant lights and he smiled ever so slightly.

“A gentleman knows when he is no longer needed,” the Count said, a fair bit of amusement seeping into his words as he gave a brisk step back and offered his arm to Magda. “I shall escort you back to your cottage.”

They were quiet the whole way back to Magda’s cottage and Magda would have let the quietness continue if she hadn’t suddenly thought of how it was going to be a pain to undo the buttons at the back of her neck.

The Count had mimed a kiss over her knuckles before letting her hand go and Magda was barely a step through the door before she turned around sharply and blurted out, “Could you undo my dress?”

The Count raised one brow high, a teasing smile pulling at the corner of his lips. Magda thought that she had never seen someone who could articulate their face quite the way the Count could.

“I can’t undo the buttons on my own,” Magda said and sort of gestured towards the neck of her gown.

“Of course,” the Count said and Magda turned back around, her toes resting over the threshold of the door so that she was a bit unsteady as she rocked back and forth on her toes for a moment.

Magda felt the Count step closer to her rather than heard him. He could be so terribly loud and yet deathly quiet at times that he always seemed at odds. It felt like a cool pillar pressed closer to her and Magda shivered, drawing her loose hair over one shoulder.

The Count brushed more of her hair aside, his fingers a whisper against the fabric of her dress and they felt strangely cold. There was a gentle tug and then the neck was free, falling down so that Magda had to press a hand to her chest. Magda took a deep breath, suddenly very aware of how fitted the neck of the dress had been around her throat.

The cool whisper trace of one knuckle being drawn from between Magda’s shoulder blades and down to the middle of her back where the zipper of the dress started made her shiver again. The keyhole at the back of the dress felt positively indecent now that the neck was undone and the only thing keeping Magda from flashing the Count was her hand holding the fabric against her chest.

“There,” the Count said softly, drawing his knuckle in tiny circles right above the zipper.

“Thank you,” Magda said quickly and turned around just as quick, stumbling a bit over the threshold as she faced the Count once more. She pressed her toes down so that the tips of her shoes gripped the threshold of the door.

“Good evening and pleasant dreams,” the Count intoned and gave the smallest of bows.

“Same to you,” Magda replied and looked over her shoulder into her cottage but when she looked back to where the Count had been he seemingly had disappeared. Feeling a bit spooked and a little charged, Magda quickly closed the door and locked it. She couldn’t stop feeling the sensation of the Count touching her back and it wouldn’t stop until she was snuggled in bed, a pillow at her back and another clutched in her arms.


	4. Hell Beast

The next day, belying what all weather reports had been saying, poured so heavy with rain that Magda didn’t leave the cottage once.  
  


The day after that was significantly less dreary but there was still a fine mist in the air. It was Monday though, the day that Magda usually took to herself and the day that Marie brought chocolate croissants from the bakery and a quiche for brunch. 

“How long have you known Bertrand?” Magda asked, tearing off bite sized pieces of her croissant and running her fingers together over her plate to brush off the crumbs after every bite. 

“Three years now,” Marie said, squinting up at the ceiling as she tipped back in her chair, a champagne flute dangling from one hand.

“So… what’s he like?” Magda asked, curious about the Frenchman. 

Marie gave a great sigh and held her champagne flute close to her lips as if she meant to take another sip while she gazed off into the distance. 

“Mystérieux. Contemplatif. Attentif. Il es… sometimes I think he is the greatest love of my life,” Marie said.

Magda felt her eyes go wide, unsure of how to respond to something so profound sounding and so she sat there, chewing on her croissant, desperately trying to come up with something that held the same level of gravitas. 

“Renfield!” Magda jumped at the sudden shout but Marie seemed unfazed as a woman in all black entered the kitchen. 

“Oh, it’s you, still alive I see, Marie,” the woman said, pausing inside the kitchen doorway, one hand drawn high to rest on the doorframe as she almost seemed to pose. She wore thigh high matte boots over tight fitted black jeans and a loose fitted sweater that was artfully half-tucked into her pants. 

“The hell beast has returned,” Marie said in greeting back, “You are an evil child, Ingrid,” The woman, Ingrid, sauntered from the doorway and toward Marie who remained tipped back in her chair, champagne flute held aloft. 

“Who’s this?” Ingrid asked, taking the flute from Marie and gesturing toward Magda with the flute before taking a sip.

“Magda,” Marie said, smiling as Ingrid immediately spat out the sip of champagne, coughing. 

“I beg your pardon?” Ingrid asked, sounding incensed. Her bright blue eyes zeroed in on Magda and she looked her up and down as if trying to ascertain if what Marie had said was true. 

“Magda is the new grounds keeper,” Marie explained, snatching the flute back. “Now clean that mess up. Your father pays me, not you. I shan’t be cleaning up after you.” Ingrid ignored Marie and instead took measured steps to stand across from Magda, the kitchen table separating them. 

“He knows your name?” Ingrid asked and Magda felt her head jerk to the side, unsure of how to answer such a question. 

“He calls it quite often,” Marie supplied and Magda frowned. 

“Don’t be disgusting,” Ingrid said, bristling and drawing a step away from the table as if she was unsettled by the idea of her father having sex with the help. 

“You know how your father is,” Marie continued, refilling her flute and taking a slow sip. “Such a child at times. He would rather cry from his bed than be a gentleman and search someone out when he needs them.” Magda jumped as Ingrid went from standing right before her to looming over Marie. Ingrid had a hand on the table and the other gripping the back of the chair Marie sat in.

“While I take great pleasure in tearing him down I won’t hear you talk about him like that. You haven’t the right,” Ingrid said lowly, her tone threatening. 

“Get out of my kitchen you naughty little girl,” Marie said, sounding amused as she lightly pushed against Ingrid to give her space so she could set her flute down.

In a blink Ingrid was by the kitchen door again, a hand resting on the frame as she looked over her shoulder at Marie. The cuff of her sweater slid down and revealed a large stack of gold bracelets. Ingrid bit down on her bottom lip for a moment, her brows drawn together in a moue of longing and then she seemed to shake herself out of whatever reverie she had been lost in and was gone just as quickly as she had arrived. 

“What… what was that?” Magda asked, feeling confused and trying to stop the pounding of her heart as she tried to reconcile how quickly Ingrid had moved. Was she drunk? Hallucinating? 

“Unrequited love,” Marie said, clarifying absolutely nothing.


	5. Family Matters Over Tea

The Count had demanded that they all take afternoon tea together in one of the lesser used drawing rooms. There was some such nonsense that the Count couldn’t have feminine energy in his sanctum sanctorum and so Renfield had haphazardly tidied the drawing room and was providing tea service.

  
“Sugar?” Renfield asked for the hundredth time, using tongs to hold a cube of sugar out to Magda.

“No thank you,” Magda said like she was on autopilot, forgetting how many times she had declined the sugar at this point as she pressed her toes into the carpet to keep from sliding on the velvet chair. She had changed into a beautiful, long sleeved, green dress but whatever the fabric was did not love the chair she sat on and she felt as if she was in a constant state of falling off the chair. 

“Renfield, do be quiet,” the Count said, one hand pressed over his eyes as he held his cup of tea out in the other hand. Magda, strangely, had noticed that he wasn’t drinking his tea at all.

“Father,” Ingrid began.

“Oh, not now, can’t you see we’re trying to have a relaxing cup of tea?” the Count snapped, setting his tea down so that it rattled on the saucer as if the tea was now spoiled and couldn’t be enjoyed. 

“We’ve been sitting here for 30 minutes. In silence.”

“Actually Mistress Ingrid, I’ve,”

“Like I said, in silence,” Ingrid said, cutting Renfield off. She hadn’t touched her tea once and it remained set to the side on the table next to her.

“Music would be lovely,” the Count said, “Marie, won’t you put something on?”   
Marie seemed rather smug as she glanced over at Ingrid before rising from her seat to flip through the stack of records on the other side of the room. 

Magda kept looking from Ingrid, to Marie, to the Count, and back. They had been quiet nearly the whole time and Magda wasn’t sure if she could handle how awkward it all was.   
Monastic chanting suddenly started up, crackling for a moment through the speakers of the record player before evening out to become clear. Marie fussed with the volume before returning to her seat, holding her cup out to Renfield to be refilled.

“So,” Ingrid started, her arms folded over her chest, sleeves drawn up so Magda could see that both of her wrists were stacked with gold bracelets. “Magda is it? How long have you been in my father’s employ?” 

“Oh, uh, not that long,” Magda said, looking over to the Count. 

“American,” Ingrid said, drawing the word out as she made a face that almost seemed to say, “but of course.” 

“I’m actually from Canada,” Magda corrected her. Ingrid’s eyebrows drew up into an expression of, “hardly better,” and Magda felt her dislike for Ingrid grow. 

“And you do what again? Play in the mud?” 

“Ingrid, do be less of a brat,” the Count said, exasperated. “Magda is the grounds keeper, she is helping me reintroduce local flora to the grounds and to make the grounds as environmentally sustainable as possible. There’s been talk of bee husbandry.” 

“Oh, spare me no details,” Ingrid said, her eyes gone comically large as she propped her chin on one hand, as if she were fascinated by the topic. 

“Sarcasm is so unbecoming,” the Count said, his head slightly tilted back as he stared down his nose and lightly sniffed as he drew his cup of tea up to his face as if he meant to take a sip.

“I am here to talk about council… family matters,” Ingrid said, correcting herself. 

“Does it involve Vlad?” the Count asked carefully, setting his tea aside. 

“It may, but again, family matters,” Ingrid said, looking pointedly at Magda and Marie. 

“Yeah, oh, sure, we can, we can leave,” Magda said, stumbling over her words as she made to leave as quickly as possible.

The Count was there at her elbow, helping her rise to her feet and gently kissing the back of her hand before Magda could walk away.

Magda swore that she heard Ingrid say she refused to call her mother. 


	6. Could She Really?

“You’ve been with the family for about five years, right?” Magda asked Marie. They had gone outside to the small patio nearest the kitchen and were each slowly sipping on some chilled white wine. Marie had pulled out some cheese, cold cuts, and bread to snack on but they had gone through that quickly and it seemed that Ingrid and the Count were still having a family discussion. 

“Oui,” Marie replied, her head tilted back and eyes closed. 

“What’s, um, so what’s the deal with Ingrid?”

“Ingrid is a complex child,” Marie answered, sighing deeply. 

“Is she,” Magda paused for a second, worried she might be overstepping her bounds with Marie by asking. Magda took a fortifying swallow of her wine and asked, “Is she in love with you?” 

Marie chuckled and Magda swore that if Marie had had a cigarette in her hand she would have taken a long contemplative pull before she spoke, “Ingrid is many things. She’s 26 and she believes herself to be in love with me. But I haven’t time for children,” Magda felt her own face flush as she took another small sip of her wine, she was only a year older than Ingrid. “And I don’t have time for someone who hates themselves so bitterly.” Marie opened her eyes then, reaching for a bit of bread and cheese, chewing on the pieces thoughtfully before pouring herself some more wine.

“Enough of me,” Marie said, smiling as she looked at Magda. “Tell me, when are you going to fuck the Count?” Magda, unprepared for such a question, choked and spat out the wine she had been drinking just then. It took her a moment to recover but Marie continued smiling at her, waiting for an answer. 

“I… I don’t know,”

“Shhh, no excuses. I know he sits by your window at night.” Magda wanted to argue that he didn’t sit by her window every night but she couldn’t quite form the words. “He was terribly jealous of Bertrand the other night. I thought there would be blood but the Count managed to restrain himself.”

“I don’t,” Magda drew up short, trying to process if she was embarrassed about talking about her sex life or if she was trying to deny any attraction she possibly had for the Count.

“Tell me about Bertrand,” Magda blurted in an attempt to redirect their conversation. Marie let out a short bark of laughter, toasting Magda with her wine glass. 

“I will humour you,” Marie conceded. “He is the best sex I’ve ever had,” Marie said, leaning in close to Magda so she could whisper. Magda felt herself being pulled in, leaning close to Marie as if they weren’t the only ones outside and with little to no danger of the Count or Ingrid coming in to the kitchen to hear them. 

“And he is very obedient,” Marie said and let out a burst of a giggle before stifling it. “One time, when I was angry with him, I only let him use his mouth,” Marie pressed her wine glass against her cheek and used her free hand to cover part of her face like she was overcome with the memory. “I have never been angry with him since.” 

Magda found herself smiling and covering her own mouth, seemingly scandalized by the confession even though she found it riveting. 

“He looks like,”

“Like he would want to be in control!” Marie said, beating Magda to the punch. Magda nodded her head furiously in agreement. “I thought the same but he is,” Marie gave a dreamy sigh and sat back in her chair. “It is so cliché but he is so generous.” 

Magda had to lightly shake herself out of the longing she suddenly felt, wishing that she had someone like Bertrand to be in love with and to love. 

“The Count,” Marie said, a mischievous note in her voice as she propped her chin up with her hand, elbow resting firmly on the arm of her chair. “He wants to fuck you. The question is, are you going to fuck him?” 

Magda felt herself squirm in her seat then, her shoulders tense and the seat suddenly uncomfortable. She balked at the idea of just fucking someone but the part of her that wasn’t entirely a romantic found it exciting. Could she have a fling with the Count?

“Didn’t you say the Count is dangerous?” Magda blurted out, still grappling with the fact that yeah, she kind of did want to fuck the Count.

“Very much so. But we’re not going to get in to that. You know I don’t stay past sunset for good reason,” Magda wanted to say she had no idea why Marie didn’t stay past sunset but held off, “But if the Count wants under your skirts,” Marie said, shaking her own skirt, “It is a different story.” 

“I don’t even know if I like him enough to have sex with him,” Magda confessed. 

“Liking someone has never stopped me from having sex with them,” Marie said sagely.


	7. *Before, behind, between, above, below*

Magda stewed on her conversation with Marie for a whole week while she got back to work. The Count was attractive in his own right, not someone that Magda would immediately gravitate toward, but he made her blood boil more than her heart flutter.

But when she thought of the way she would lean in to his touch when he would hold her hand or stand a little too close, or when he would sit beneath her cottage window and read to her or talk to her, and during the off times she would actually find him witty or god forbid charming… it muddied the waters for her. 

And the Count did himself no favours to stay in her good graces when he would try to use his money and position over her. When he would belittle her. When he would undermine her recommendations for the grounds. When he would say sexist things as if they were fact. If anything, the idea of hate fucking him was more appealing than anything remotely romantic. 

For a week Marie had just her imagination to fabricate the way she would finally end up in bed with the Count. Each fantasy usually started with an argument that somehow had her locking lips with the Count as their argument went into a fever pitch and from there it varied if she had sex with him there on the spot or they managed to stumble their way to a bedroom in the manor.

It was surprisingly hard to imagine the Count finding her in one of the gardens and it was almost equally as hard to imagine him without all of his clothes. She usually got about as far as imagining that they would only remove or tear enough of their clothes as it took to do the deed and that was it. The Count was always draped in so many layers it seemed ridiculous to imagine him naked. 

“What on earth is that?” Magda jumped so bad that she nearly knocked her radio over as The Righteous Brothers played. She had been in the middle of turning the volume to just the right loudness before getting into her tub to soak and the Count had to ruin it. Magda hastily turned the dial up too loud only to turn it down all the way as she whipped around to glare at the Count. 

His face was ghostly pale in the window as he stood outside her cottage, peering in, and Magda was suddenly reminded of the stories her mother would tell her of demons that had pale white faces that lurked in the forests under the cover of night. It was late, the sun had set a while ago and Magda had had a long day and was looking forward to relaxing. The suddenness of the Count’s return to their somewhat nightly ritual was both a relief and also made Magda furious. He couldn’t just show up when he felt like it.

Heart still racing a bit, Magda frowned at the Count. “I’m taking a bath,” Magda said, hands moving to her hips as she realized the Count must be standing on a box. At most his shoulders would appear above the windowsill but Magda could see a good portion of his torso.

“I would never deign to deny such a privilege,” the Count said, resting an elbow on the windowsill and gently propping his chin on his carefully poised hand. His fingers were absolutely covered in rings and he seemed to be trying to show them all off as he splayed his fingers just so. 

“I don’t have time for you tonight,” Magda said, feeling bold because of her anger. She felt her bathrobe begin to slip open but didn’t move to stop it. 

“Manners,” the Count tsk’d and gave a slow smile as Magda slowly walked toward him. 

“Something you’re in need of,” Magda said, stopping before the window but not quite close enough that he could reach out and touch her. 

“I’ll not let a peasant lecture me on manners,” the Count said, his words light as if he were trying to keep from laughing. Magda felt a deep need to slap the smirk off his face. She could feel her palm tingle and her arm tensed as if preparing to wind up. 

“You’re a filthy old man,” Magda said and, before she lost her nerve to do it, yanked on the tie of her bathrobe and let her robe drop to the floor so she was naked in front of the Count. She stood there for what felt like hours and her face was burning as she flushed but she took deep calming breaths to try to steady herself. “I’m going to take a bath. Entertain me,” Magda said and reached out toward the window so that she rested the barest tip of a finger on the bit of glass she could reach. “If I’m bored I’ll close the window.” 

The Count stood there silently, his gaze heavy and unwavering from her face even after she had dropped her robe. He licked his lips slowly before he spoke. 

“How shall I entertain you?” the Count asked, finally letting his gaze slowly drop so that Magda swore she felt him looking at her shoulders, then her breasts, then down her torso, to the juncture of her thighs and all the way down to her toes before looking back up. 

“I’m sure being so cultured you’ll think of something,” Magda said and turned on her heel before she finally lost her nerve. The longer she stood there the more she wanted to snatch her robe up, especially as the Count’s eyes had glowed a bright and vivid gold in the lamplight of her room. It was as if she couldn’t look away from his eyes.

Magda tried to gracefully sink into the tub but the water was so hot and it felt so good on her sore muscles she couldn’t help the tiniest moan. 

Magda had, for a fraction of a moment, forgotten about the Count and sucked in a shallow breath as his voice came deep and quiet from the window. 

“ _Come, Madam, come, all rest my powers defy,_  
_Until I labour, I in labour lie_.”

Magda shivered in the water, sinking all but her head under the water as the Count's voice washed over her. It was like he knew how attractive his voice could be and how when he pitched his timbre low it made Magda squeeze her thighs together. 

“ _Licence my roving hands, and let them go,_  
_Before, behind, between, above, below_.”

Magda had closed her eyes and was lightly gripping the edge of the tub but found herself gripping the tub tighter and tighter as the Count continued reciting whatever poem he deemed entertaining.

“ _Here is no penance, much less innocence._  
_To teach thee, I am naked first: why then_  
_What need'st thou have more covering than a man_.”

Magda felt warm from the bathwater but even warmer still from the poem the Count had recited. She almost couldn’t drum up the courage to look over at him but after the silence stretched for longer and longer Magda had to do something and so she turned to look at him. 

The Count had slouched over, resting his head on the arm he had spread along the windowsill as he stared at her. 

They stared at each other for several long breaths until Magda whispered, “And?” 

The Count smiled at her, the pull and twitch of muscles slow, as if he were unfurling into the smile. His teeth, always so startlingly white against the pinkness of his lips and mouth, nearly gleamed in the low light of Magda’s room as the evening became darker and darker. 

The Count slipped into another poem, this one in French, and Magda held his gaze through the entirety of the long recital. She could feel her heart thrum in her chest and in her toes and fingers. The stillness of the room, only broken by the Count’s low haunting voice, made Magda aware of how her whole body felt as if it was one giant heartbeat. 

Magda thought of how she wanted to reach between her thighs and touch herself as she stared at the Count. Of how she didn’t care if he continued to recite poetry to her or not. It felt reckless and wild and the longer the Count stood there at her window the more and more she wanted to act on the impulse.

The sloshing of water as Magda rose up to her feet was startling against the quietness of the room and the shock of cold as she stood naked and wet made her shiver. 

The Count lifted himself up as Magda walked toward the window and Magda wanted to wrap her fingers around the inky strands of his hair and pull his head up to hers so she could kiss him. She wanted those hands to run along her wet skin. She wanted to feel the weight of him press against her as she stretched out on her bed. 

Magda reached out a steadying hand to the window, her breath heavy as she stared down at his upturned face. Would he ask to come in? Would he laugh at her? Could he see the way her heart beat so strong against her chest that it made her breast tremble?

The Count held out his hand, not crossing the threshold of the windowsill, as if mindful that he should be so gentlemanly as to ask permission to enter into her home, and said in low rolling tones, “ _There may be a way out of this prison but there is no escape from me. I'll be the first man to kiss you, to bed you - whether you come willingly or not. You will be mine, and mine alone_.” 

Magda didn’t realize she had started to reach for the Count’s hand in return until she snatched it back against her body, anger burning hot through her. She felt her face turn red in fury, in embarrassment, in shock. Any desire she had had in inviting the Count to bed evaporated.

“I’m bored,” Magda said so quietly she nearly whispered it and yanked on the window to close it, almost closing it on the Count as the heavy lead glass window slammed shut. His face was slightly distorted through the window, a pale beacon in the darkness, and Magda yanked the curtains in place to block him out. 

Magda decided then and there that if she was going to fuck the Count that she was going to do it on her terms and with full confidence. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes from "To His Mistress Going to Bed" by John Donne and "The Red Necklace" by Sally Gardner.


	8. Dinner But Make It Fashion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "fashion" chapter.

“Stick a stake in it, Renfield!” Magda drew up short as she heard Ingrid yell at Renfield. She had just touched the door handle that led into the kitchen and yanked her hand back as if Ingrid’s very voice had shocked her through the handle.

Hunger and the threat of rain made Magda slowly open the kitchen door only to be greeted by the sight of Marie standing between Ingrid and Renfield, a butcher knife in each hand. 

Renfield kept twitching away, torn between getting closer and yet jumping away from the knife that Marie flicked at him to ward him off. 

“Oh great, another _Breather._ Just what I need, one more stinking peasant.” Magda held up her hands in front of her, trying to show she didn’t hold a weapon. 

“Don’t make me say it,” Marie warned and swiped her knife at Renfield and then Ingrid who both flinched. 

“You wouldn’t dare,” Ingrid said, her chin jutting out and lips drawn back as if she were baring her teeth at Marie like a wild animal.

“I shall tell the Master about this!” Renfield cried, his voice high pitched in fear. 

“I’ll tear your throat out before then you sniveling worm,” Ingrid snapped, actually hissing at Marie as Marie made a slicing motion at Ingrid to keep her back. 

“Ingrid, leave. Now. Before I make you.” Ingrid hissed at Marie again. 

“Then do it!” 

Marie drew herself up taller and said, “Ingrid Dracula you are not welcome here. Your presence is forbidden.” 

Ingrid hissed again, lunging toward Marie but then she was shrieking in anger as she backpedaled out of the room, her eyes wet as if she was on the verge of tears.

The kitchen door barely had time to slam shut before Renfield shouted after Ingrid, “Good riddance, devil spawn!” 

Marie gave a wordless shout and lunged at Renfield, slicing him on the arm. Renfield shrieked nearly as loud as Ingrid had and sprinted out of the kitchen, fumbling with the door on his way out. 

The kitchen, just moments ago so full of noise, was deafening in the ensuing silence. Magda was still glued by the door, hands still held up, as Marie’s arms shakily lowered and she turned to look at Magda. 

Taking a dozen or so calming breaths Marie said, her voice sounding strained as she tried to appear calm, “Lunch?”

Magda blinked in response before finding her voice, “What… what was that about?” 

“That?” Marie parroted, sounding like she had just been running, “Disagreement about what red to serve tonight. Betrand is bringing Vlad home.”

Magda didn’t realize she was shaking her head back and forth in slow, silent horror until Marie gave a forced laugh and said, “The Count said to wear formal attire tonight.” 

“I don’t really have anything formal,” Magda replied.

“The Count instructed Ingrid to help you,” Marie said, turning away so she could start pulling together a simple lunch. Magda felt her head tilt to the side as she chewed on the fact that the Count was telling his daughter to get her a dress. 

Magda had never been anywhere upstairs but Ingrid had yelled for Magda to get her, “peasant arse into the parlor this instant!” not long after she finished her lunch. From there Ingrid had manhandled her all the way up to the third floor, complaining about how slow she was and every other thing she could think to comment on. Magda’s shoes were disgusting. She had dirt smears on her legs. Her nails were filthy. 

“You know,” Magda said, adjusting the towel that she had wrapped her hair up in after taking a quick shower, “I could have just showered and changed at my cottage. I didn’t really need to,”

“A little gratitude is all I’m asking,” Ingrid snapped, cutting Magda off. 

Apparently they weren’t in Ingrid’s room but a shared dressing room, and Ingrid had disappeared in her own room to freshen up in her own bathroom. Magda had thought the guest bathroom she had used was tacky. The predominant colors were black, white, burgundy, and gold with swan motifs everywhere. It felt like someone had selected the entire room out of a catalogue and called it a day. The shared dressing room had more personal touches though as it appeared Ingrid had most of her clothes in there. There were more jewel tones to break-up the otherwise darkly decorated room.

Ingrid strode about the dressing room in a silk robe, the sash undone so that her black lingerie was on display. Like the Count, Ingrid was unfathomably pale, and the black was stark against her skin as well as all the gold jewelry she wore. 

“I’m getting a little tired of the backhanded compliments,” Magda said flatly, gripping her bathrobe tighter.

“And I’m tired of taking care of my father’s messes, aren’t we just a pair?” Ingrid snapped back, her hands on her hips as she looked Magda up and down. 

“Listen, whatever you think is going on between me and your father, just, forget it. There’s nothing there. We’re not… we’re not sleeping together or anything.” Ingrid just raised one arch brow in reply and turned to a standing wardrobe. She opened the double doors with a flourish and took a step back, eyeing all of the clothes that were inside.

Magda got a waft of cedar and perfume but it dissipated quickly and she just watched Ingrid tenderly touch some of the fabrics before Ingrid began to briskly slide the hangers back and forth. 

Whoever the clothes had belonged to was definitely not Ingrid. The first dress that Ingrid pulled out was, by far, too long for even Ingrid to wear in extremely tall heels. Not to mention that the fabrics and colors didn’t really seem to be in Ingrid’s color palette or aesthetic. 

“Here,” Ingrid said, taking four dresses over to Magda, “try these on.” Magda automatically reached out for the garments without thinking and was shocked by how heavy the four dresses were. She turned to go back to the bathroom but was brought up short by Ingrid’s exasperated, “And where do you think you’re going?” 

“I’m going to try the dresses on,” Magda said, thinking it was obvious. 

“In the bathroom?” Ingrid asked, sounding scandalized. 

“Yeah… that’s where my underwear is.” Ingrid gave a put upon sigh and rolled her eyes, stomping over to a different dresser so she could rummage around in a drawer before flinging a bit of lace at Magda. 

“Please, I wouldn’t want to infringe on your modesty,” Ingrid said and turned away so she could rummage through a closet. The sliding door must have triggered a sensor of some sort because a light automatically came on and illuminated what must have been 100 dresses in varying lengths and styles. Magda watched Ingrid for a moment before shaking her head and setting about the task of trying the dresses on.

There was a butler stand that made it easier to hang the dresses up while she tried each one on individually and so she set them aside as she quickly pulled on the underwear Ingrid had given her. It was black, shocking, and high cut, not something that Magda would pick out as being particularly flattering even with the fine lace details, but the material felt rich. Or, at least, Magda imagined it was expensive material. 

“Do hurry up,” Ingrid called and Magda flinched, going to pull her bathrobe closed for a moment but Ingrid hadn’t abandoned her search for her own dress. 

“I just need to grab my bra,” Magda said.

“Absolutely not, you are not wearing some department store trash under a 1960s Dior.” Magda looked from Ingrid to the peach colored dress that was presumably the Dior and back at Ingrid. 

“You’re joking,” Magda said.

“I would rather send you out naked. Besides, the gold Paco Rabbane cuts too low in the front for you to wear a bra anyway.” Magda pulled out the gold dress more and sized it up, the deep V of the neck line ended somewhere just about where her navel would be.

“There is zero percent chance I am going out there without a bra,” Magda said firmly, wrapping her bathrobe tightly around herself and tying it off, as if to make a point.

“You’re still young, your breasts don’t sag that much, stop being such a prude.” 

“Still not convincing me,” Magda said, throwing her hands up. Ingrid rolled her eyes once more and stalked to yet another dresser, pulling out nothing less than what looked to be a corset before stomping her way to Magda.

“Your breasts aren’t that big,” Ingrid said and yanked on the tie of Magda’s robe. Before Magda could even react her bathrobe was open and Ingrid had shoved her to face the other direction so that she could pull the robe off. 

“They’re too big to go braless in that kind of dress,” Magda finally replied as Ingrid swung the corset around and pulled either end to meet at Magda’s back. “Is a corset really necessary?”

“Corset?” Ingrid sounded nearly scandalized. “These are stays.”

“Isn’t there supposed to be something that goes underneath this?” Magda asked.

“Tell me if you can’t breathe,” Ingrid said, ignoring Magda. 

“You’re like, surprisingly strong,” Magda said, wincing at the first firm tug that Ingrid made on the laces. The stays went from just above her hips to barely above her nipples and was both soft against her skin and unbelievably rigid. She’d be lucky if she could bend over or sit down with any sort of grace. 

“Put the green dress on,” Ingrid commanded, walking away to leave Magda to struggle into the dress. It took a moment but eventually Magda had the green velvet dress on. Overall it was simply cut so that the off-the shoulder neckline and almost groin high slit took center stage. If it wasn’t for the full length sleeves Magda would have felt naked given how much skin managed to be exposed. The A-line skirt parted dramatically as Magda turned to look over at Ingrid. 

Ingrid had settled on a black dress with full lantern style sleeves that were given the illusion of being striped as the sheer parts gave way to thin strips of some sort of textured material. 

“Are we done playing dress-up?” Magda asked, trying not to sound too ungrateful. She had briefly caught her reflection in the tri-fold mirror that was on the other side of the room and was equal parts giddy and insecure at wearing the borrowed dress. The dress was a touch short for her height if she wanted to wear heels and her hips were probably more generous than whoever the owner of the dress was. 

“What part of formal don’t you understand?” Ingrid asked.

Magda was convinced that Ingrid enjoyed adding the final touches to each of their outfits more than she let on. Magda would even go so far to say that Ingrid seemed a bit giddy at the prospect of how to resolve their shoe situation. Ingrid flat out refused to let Magda go get any of her shoes to try with the dress but most of the shoes that Ingrid pulled out from the dressing room were too small for Magda’s feet. They finally settled on a pair of black sandals that could be adjusted enough for Magda to wear, mostly, comfortably. 

“So now that I’ve done something nice for you,” Ingrid said, spritzing Magda with some perfume. Magda thought it was debatable whether this was really something nice or not. “You need to do something nice for me.”

“I’m listening,” Magda said skeptically. 

“You can’t like Vlad more than me.” Magda just nodded her head for a moment, trying to come up with a logical explanation of why this family was so fucking weird. 

“I’ll do my best,” Magda tried to say diplomatically. 

“I mean it,” Ingrid said firmly, roughly grasping Magda’s wrists. “Everyone likes Vlad more and I’m tired of it. He does nothing to warrant everyone’s adoration. It’s sickening.” Magda swallowed thickly, wanting desperately to stay out of whatever family politics were going on and also concerned about how strong Ingrid seemed to be as she continued to hold onto Magda’s wrists.

“For tonight,” Magda bargained.

“Fine.”

“Good.” 


	9. Dinner But Make It Cringe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dinner party chapter.

Ingrid, rather surprisingly, linked arms with Magda as they slowly walked down to the dinning room. The Count, Bertrand, and presumably Vlad, were already at the far end of the dinning room where the fireplace was. The three drew up short on whatever conversation they had been having and all stared sharply at Ingrid and Magda as they made their way to the trio.

“Vlad,” Ingrid said, her tone flat and uninterested even as she lent forward to offer her cheek for Vlad to kiss. “Always the worst to see you.” Vlad gave a chuckle but mimed a kiss over her cheek in greeting anyway. 

“Likewise,” Vlad replied. He was a touch taller than the Count but equally as pale. Unlike the Count who had dressed up in something a little more regional, Vlad wore a sharp black suit that was only broken up by the charcoal gray pocket square sticking out of his breast pocket. His hair, full and swept back, was nearly as dark as the Count’s but a great deal shorter. The family resemblance was fairly straight forward but Vlad still had a youthful roundness to his face. 

“This is Magda,” Ingrid said by way of introducing Magda. “Magda Eastman.” Vlad wasn’t quite as suave as he thought he was because Magda still caught him do the slightest of double takes at her name. She was going to have to finally ask someone about why her name always caused a stir with this family. 

“Vladimir Dracula,” Vlad said and took Magda’s free hand in his to mime a kiss over her knuckles, giving the tiniest of bows. “You can call me Vlad though,” he said and the crooked smile he gave made Magda smile back in return. He had charm, a subtle, unpretentious charm that Magda felt herself fall in to even as she tried to scold herself for it. He was 23 if a day, four years younger than herself, and she had been having fairly illicit thoughts about his father so it wouldn’t do to get caught up in whatever flirtatious overtures that Vlad threw her way. 

“What brings you to England?” Vlad asked, pointedly ignoring the huffing noises that came from Ingrid. As soon as Renfield had made his way over to the small group Ingrid had snatched up a glass of red wine and was all but chugging it down, one arm still firmly looped with Magda’s. 

“I’m the gardener,” Magda said, cutting her gaze to look at Ingrid who was looking away from the group entirely. 

“How… lovely,” Vlad said.

The Count managed to start prattling on and on, mostly about Vlad’s accomplishments and the conversation followed from the fireplace to the dinning table as they all took their seats. Marie never appeared but Renfield was a constant bustle of frenetic movement as he served all the guests. Magda noted that Vlad was the only one to even attempt to eat anything other than Magda herself. 

Ingrid was sullen the whole evening though, a dark cloud of fabric to Magda’s right as she snapped her fingers to keep Renfield at her side so she constantly had a full cup of red wine. 

The Count, Bertrand, and Vlad kept the conversation going in a mix of French, Romanian, and English. The magnetism that Ingrid so resented about her brother was evident as both the Count and Bertrand hung on his every word. Magda was even feeling the invisible pull as she had to constantly remind herself not to be too caught up in Vlad’s aura. 

At one point Ingrid reminded Magda of their agreement by causing a small scene. Renfield was at Ingrid's left, ready to pour her some more red wine when she sharply jabbed him in the side with her elbow. Magda had only fleetingly caught the motion out of the corner of her eye as she had been unconsciously leaning toward Vlad to better listen.

Renfield had given a muffled oof and splashed some wine onto the table and even a few drops onto Magda's bare shoulder. Startled, Magda gasped and quickly went to dab away the viscous liquid as it rolled down toward her breasts and the neckline of her gown.

Magda was too caught up inspecting the red stain on her napkin for a moment – wine definitely didn’t stain quite that shade of red – to realize that the Count, Bertrand, and Vlad had all gone utterly quiet. Each of their gazes resting heavily on where the wine had spilled on to Magda’s skin. 

“Do be less of a dunce,” Ingrid scolded Renfield halfheartedly. 

Renfield made several stuttering attempts at defending himself but eventually he just gave up so he could keep filling glasses and bringing out more dishes. 

The evening ended – hours later – with Vlad begging off that he needed to rest because he had only just arrived that evening from a long flight and Bertrand was quick to leave as well, presumably to find Marie.

Vlad bowed over Magda’s hand in parting and even gave Ingrid another air-kiss before he disappeared for the evening. Ingrid had attached herself to Magda again and snorted in annoyance as the Count bid Magda goodnight as well and brought Magda’s hand up to his lips to kiss her knuckles. 

Ingrid all but dragged Magda back up to her room and was pointedly quiet as she changed into a chemise to sleep in. 

“I’m just going to grab my other clothes so I can,” Ingrid grabbed Magda’s hand and Magda fell quiet as Ingrid just stared up at her, her large blue eyes focused somewhere in the distance even as she looked right at Magda. 

“Do you mind if I stay here the night?” Magda asked, surprised with her own request. “I think I drank too much and going down those stairs and back to the cottage just sounds unbearable, you know?” Ingrid didn’t reply, she just started to quietly help Magda out of the dress and then the corset, handing her a lavender colored chemise to sleep in. Magda surprised even herself when she followed Ingrid into her room and climbed into the massive bed.

They each settled down but Magda turned toward Ingrid who followed suit, her watery gaze still looking sad and far away. 

“I don’t have any sisters but my best friends and I used to sleep like this,” Magda whispered, taking one of Ingrid’s hands in her own. 

“We’re not friends,” Ingrid said softly after a lengthy stretch of silence. 

“We can be for tonight,” Magda replied and closed her eyes, squeezing Ingrid’s hand for a moment. 


	10. Never A Trouble

Magda woke to find Ingrid gone from the bed which, given the hour, was rather strange but she didn’t put too much thought into it. Not when she realized she had slept in the make-up that Ingrid had applied to her face and sighed heartily at the idea of having to scrub it all off. Hopefully she hadn’t stained the pillow she had slept on.

Magda found Marie in the kitchen, to no great surprise, and couldn’t help smiling at the other woman. Marie had on a men’s shirt, the sleeves cuffed to about her forearms, and had the front half tucked into yesterday’s skirt. 

“Good night?” Magda asked, still smiling at Marie as she poured herself a cup of coffee from the carafe that Marie nudged her way.

“The best,” Marie replied and giggled a bit.

“And you?” Marie asked. 

“It was,” Magda paused, trying to think of how best to answer. The food, as always, had been delicious and for the most part the evening hadn’t been too much of a pain to endure but… “It was different,” Magda finally answered. 

“Can I ask you something?” Marie turned to Magda then, an eye brow raised, waiting patiently for Magda’s question. “Why does this whole family lose their shit over my name?” 

Marie took a deep and long breath, turning to stare out the kitchen window as she sipped on her coffee. 

“I don’t think it’s my place to say.” Magda frowned at Marie’s reply. 

“Oh? And what is your place to say then?” Magda asked, sipping from her own coffee mug. Marie gave what could only be called a sly smile and made as if she were looking out of the kitchen window for someone. 

“Bertrand is shy, he is embarrassed if I kiss and tell,” Marie said and winked. 

“Mme Derrieux,” Renfield called before he had even cleared the door into the kitchen. It was early for him to be running about the house but he still looked like his mostly disheveled self.

“Did I give you permission to enter my kitchen?” Marie demanded of Renfield who flinched and cradled his arm to his chest, as if protecting the slash that Marie had given him. 

“Master Vlad has asked for his usual,” Renfield said, tilting his head back as if he were staring down his nose at Marie. Marie squinted her eyes at Renfield and slowly reached toward the bread knife that was out on the counter. A high pitched sort of noise came from Renfield and his eyes became wide. 

“Then Master Vlad can come see me,” Marie said, setting her coffee down. 

“No worries,” Vlad said.

“Speak of the devil,” Magda whispered, jumping in shock as Vlad seemingly just appeared. 

“And he shall appear,” Vlad said, making Magda pause. There was no way he had heard that. “Marie, I heard there was some heated debate about last nights dinner.”

“Heated! Why, Master Vlad,”

“I hate to think I was the cause of a scene,” Vlad said, cutting Renfield off and walking toward Marie so he could take her hands in each of his own. He smiled down at Marie, the gesture so full of warmth that Magda even felt heartened by just being there to see Vlad smile. 

“He knows better than to be in my kitchen,” Marie said, trying to be stern even as she seemed to melt. 

“Then I’ll just have to see you more,” Vlad said and tilted his head down to give Marie a kiss on either cheek. Magda watched him take a moment to inhale the scent of her, his eyes closing briefly before slowly opening to stare right at Magda, as if challenging her to say something. 

“Now, Master Vlad, there’s no need,”

“Nonsense,” Vlad said, his hand casually outstretched towards Renfield, cutting Renfield off once more. Renfield frowned, as if hurt that he couldn’t run around as errand boy to Vlad. 

“Shall I prepare the usual?” Marie asked and Magda felt her eyes go wide as she saw that Marie had reached out to pick up the bread knife and was pressing it into Vlad’s stomach. He was dressed simply in a belted pair of black slacks with a thin black jumper tucked in and the silver of the bread knife stood out vividly. Magda couldn’t keep the refrain of, “What the fuck!” from running through her head over and over. 

“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble,” Vlad said, finally releasing Marie’s other hand and stepping back. Marie kept the knife pointed out but tucked to her side. 

“Never a trouble for little boys that ask so politely,” Marie replied, the smile she gave never reaching her eyes. Vlad, for a brief moment, appeared annoyed at being called a little boy but he shrugged it off quickly by giving another glowing smile. 

“Fantastic!” Vlad said in parting, Renfield hot on his heels muttering about witches and she-devils. 

“I say this with the upmost sincerity but what, the ever loving fuck, is wrong with this family?” Magda asked, finally noticing that her fingers were cramping from how tightly she was clutching her coffee mug. 

“They’re vampires,” Marie said, tapping the bread knife against her shoulder thoughtfully. “I have to make sure I am always on my toes.” Magda sort of snorted in response, like she couldn’t quite bring herself to laugh but was also in mild shock at the statement. Marie wasn’t serious, was she? 

Marie just raised her brows in return and Magda cocked her head to the side in silent question but Marie simply shrugged and turned away to start making Vlad’s breakfast. 

Vlad, Ingrid, and Bertrand staid at the Manor for another two weeks but Magda was kept busy with the grounds and had little to no opportunity to see any of them. Which was fine considering that she was ending her days in near exhaustion and it was a mild blessing to not have the Count annoying her although she did miss seeing Marie more. 


	11. *A Wicked Man*

“I can’t believe it’s June already,” Magda said, collapsing heavily onto the chaise lounge opposite Marie. A small, spindly, table separated them and looked liable to collapse under the cheeseboard and wine that Marie had laid out. 

“I can’t believe the children are gone already,” Marie said, the pout she gave exaggerated. From the moments that Magda had been able to steal with Marie it didn’t seem like she was too cut up about Vlad and Ingrid being gone. If anything she was rather wistful about the fact that it meant Bertrand was also gone. 

“They really are such good children, and Vlad is so thoughtful. He said he won’t be back in August for my birthday so he gave me this,” Marie said, holding out her wrist to show a stack of three slim silver bangles. Magda could just barely make out the fact that there appeared to be some sort of design stamped onto each bangle. 

Magda held off from asking about if Ingrid had given her anything as a gift, not wanting to pit the two against each other. 

“They’re lovely,” Magda said, taking the wine that Marie offered. They each laid on their respective chaise, sipping wine and quietly snacking from the cheeseboard until Magda felt sleepy and Marie wished her good night.

“You can’t fall asleep out here,” Marie warned but Magda just hummed in reply. “Magda,” Marie prompted, grabbing the nearly empty cheeseboard up. 

“I promise, I just want to relax for a bit longer,” Magda said, drawing the blanket that had been folded neatly at one end of the chaise up until it covered most of her. One lone foot stuck out from the blanket so that she was both comfortably warm and a bit cool to better enjoy the blanket. 

“Don’t be foolish,” Marie warned, leaving Magda for the evening. Magda drifted into a half sleep that slowly ended as she felt a cool hand wrap around her bare ankle and gently pulse as if it to carefully wake her up. 

“How utterly charming to find such a flower laid supine like some rare Hippolyte Berteaux. Shall I call you Odalisque?” The Count asked, pulling Magda from her sleep. The wine had made her drowsy and it was so cozy under the blanket that she wanted to ignore the chill that had crept in. It was dark enough out that Magda knew it was quite late now. 

Magda didn’t really know art well enough to know how insulted she should be by the Count’s comparison but she aimed for mild annoyance in favor of starting a fight. 

“Do you make it a habit of molesting women in their sleep?” Magda asked sleepily. 

“Unless I have powers unbeknownst to me you are quite awake,” the Count replied cheekily and drew the back of his nails up Magda’s calf, pushing the blanket higher and causing Magda to shiver. 

“You should ask for my permission,” Magda said, drawing a lazy arm up over her head so that it hung off the back of the chaise. She felt the dress she wore shift, the skirt lifting higher underneath the blanket at the movement. 

“Permission for what?” the Count asked, lightly scratching his nails just above the back of her knee. The sensation was an odd mixture of being terribly ticklish and yet oddly soothing. 

“To touch me,” Magda replied, unconsciously biting her lip as she felt the Count’s large hand cup the back of her knee. It was dark enough that Magda couldn’t quite make out the Count’s full features but she swore his eyes glowed in the dark. 

“Need I permission for something freely given?” the Count asked and slid his hand ever so slightly higher. 

“Maybe I’m humoring a wicked man until he learns his manners,” Magda said, glad for how dark it was to cover the sudden blush she had at being so ridiculously cheesy. 

“I’ve yet to be wicked,” the Count said, reaching forward with his free hand so that he could brace himself against the back of the chaise as he moved higher up the seat. Magda stared up at the Count as he loomed over her, her heart beginning to beat harder at having him so close. His dark hair was pooled over one shoulder, framing his pale face almost as if it were a curtain. 

“I could be persuaded you know,” Magda said softly, aware that the Count’s hand was all but completely under the skirt of her dress and yet he hadn’t moved it from above her knee at all. 

“Oh?”

“Yes.” 

“Perhaps whisper it to me then. I have been told a wicked man has no manners and I would hate to fall into such company,” the Count said and turned his ear to Magda, leaning even closer so that Magda could whisper. Magda felt the Count’s hand slide even higher until he was fully cupping the inside of her thigh and she shivered from the excitement and cheek of the Count but also because the cool night air touched her skin and reminded her how close the Count’s hand was to her underwear. 

“It would have to be worth my time,” Magda said, her breathing becoming deeper as the Count turned his head to look at her again. It was almost uncomfortable to be staring at him so close but Magda couldn’t pull her gaze away.

“How wonderful a puzzle,” the Count said, his hand move higher still. Magda slowly drew her other leg away until it almost hung off the side of the chaise. “If I were a simple man I might be stumped in how to prove to a woman to grant me permission to touch her.” Magda swallowed thickly as she felt the Count’s thumb softly brush against the crotch of her underwear. 

“Will you make it worth my time?” Magda asked and let out a heavy breath as she felt the Count firmly press his thumb into her.

“You’ll simply have to let me know,” the Count said and slipped his thumb beneath her underwear, stroking against her until he had slipped in to firmly brush over her clit. Magda sucked in a deep breath and closed her eyes, tilting her head back as much as she could. The Count was quick to replace his thumb with his middle finger, switching between light and firm strokes against her clit that caused Magda to moan and moan deeper still when she felt the Count press his lips against her bared throat. 

Magda wasn’t sure why it was so thrilling to have the Count touching her like this while kissing her throat but it felt positively dangerous. 

“When will I know she is impressed?” the Count asked, pressing his lips against her temple. Magda moaned as she felt the Count’s finger slip inside her and curl as he began to lightly thrust into her. 

“She’ll let you know,” Magda breathed, turning her face away for a moment as she bit her lip at the pleasure. She wanted the Count to go back to touching her clit but the tease of his middle finger inside of her was delicious in its own right. 

“Will she tell me in so many words?” the Count pressed, slipping another finger inside and using the heel of his palm to rub against her clit. The touch was more muted than his finger had been but still made Magda gasp. “Perhaps she’ll sing for me?” the Count asked. Magda just nodded her head, too caught up to respond. The Count was rocking his hand against her but also running his fingers inside of her and Magda could feel how close she was to the end. 

“Have I impressed you?” the Count asked.

“Don’t stop,” Magda begged, stretching her head back as she fought to keep from pulling her legs in as the sensation of the Count’s thrusting fingers became too much. “Please don’t stop.” 

“A gentleman never refuses a lady,” the Count said and Magda didn’t even care that she could hear the smugness in his voice. 

The Count kissed Magda on the lips then and Magda felt herself crest, her mouth drawing open into a muted cry as she came. It was almost overwhelming to feel the Count’s tongue against her own as he kept his hand cupped between her legs, gentling until Magda was only lightly shivering at his touch. 

Magda hadn’t ever really considered the Count’s hands before but she could feel how thick his fingers felt inside of her and moaned as he pressed the pads of his fingers up, the sensation feeling like an aftershock more than another small climax. 

“I have a confession,” the Count whispered and pressed up again. “I am a wicked man,” he said and slowly withdrew his fingers before placing them in his mouth and sucking on them. Magda watched him through half closed eyelids, not even bothering to draw her legs closed. 

“And I love it,” the Count said, withdrawing his fingers from his mouth so he could kiss her. Magda came again like that, the Count’s mouth moving over hers like he was desperate to have her come again as his hand found its way between her thighs for a second time.   



	12. *Painted Tongue*

“That can’t be all,” Marie said in disbelief the next day, her words coming out in puffs as she kneaded a large piece of dough. 

“That’s it, I swear,” Magda said, blushing at remembering last night with the Count. 

“I warned you not to be foolish,” Marie chided and Magda frowned. Getting fingered by the Count out on one of the patios probably wasn’t smart as far as keeping her job but Magda wouldn’t exactly call herself foolish. “You can’t let him get the upper hand.” 

“He didn’t even ask,”

“Non, that’s not what I mean. The Count doesn’t have to stick his cock in you to get the upper hand. Don’t let him surprise you like that again.” Magda crossed her arms under her chest, confused. 

“What’s it matter if he wants to swan in at night or during the day? If I had wanted to say no I would have said no and I didn’t want to say no,” Magda said. 

“Don’t let him think you are weak.” 

Magda was just about to argue with Marie that she wasn’t weak when the wall phone rang. It chimed delicately twice and Marie was there to pick up the receiver. The phone was only connected to a few rooms so that the Count wouldn’t have to yell for Renfield all the time but it still rarely rang as the Count was rather prone to yelling for Renfield anyway. 

“Bonjour, Monsieur,” Marie greeted the Count. “I will let her know,” Marie said after a pause and hung up. 

“Did he say what he wants?” 

“No, just that he is in his drawing room,” Marie replied and turned away from Magda to resume kneading the bread dough. Magda let out a loud breath through her nose and left Marie to go hunt the Count down. 

He was, like Marie had said, in his drawing room, all of the curtains drawn closed against the morning light. 

“Marie said you wanted to see me,” Magda said, stepping just inside the drawing room but leaving the door open. 

“Come, I have some suggestions,” the Count said, holding a stack of 8x10 photos aloft. Magda made her way slowly to the Count and took the stack of glossy photos, flipping through them.

The photos were predominately of black or dark red leafed plants. Magda spotted a Black Runner elephant ear and then what must have been a dozen variations of coleus’. She recognized Persian Shield, Kingswood Torch, and Black Dragon right away but others she wasn’t as familiar with. She’d have to take the photos with her and compare them with her plant encyclopedia app to see what was native and what wasn’t and what would be considered invasive or too unstable for the area.

“Are you interested in having any of these plants on the grounds or are they more inspiration?” Magda asked, flipping past a rather beautiful Jack-in-the-Pulpit and Skunk Cabbage. 

“A bit of both,” the Count said, smiling as he loosely crossed his arms. Magda hadn’t noticed it at first but the Count was in the least amount of layers as she’d ever seen him. He was in a simple black tunic and pants but he still had on stacks of bracelets and his fingers clicked when he moved them from the number of rings he wore. 

“Tell me about this one,” the Count said, grabbing the Black Runner from the stack and holding it out in front of himself, moving so that he stood just behind Magda. 

“It’s called Black Runner, it’s an elephant ear, taro,” Magda said, she rubbed her forehead, trying to remember if this was the mutation of Black Magic or not. “It’s a tropical plant and needs indirect sunlight and moist earth. Here, let me open the curtains and you’ll be able to see that it’s actually purple and not black,” Magda said, turning towards the windows. 

“No!” the Count cried, stepping in front of Magda. “No need,” the Count amended, “I see it now that you’ve pointed it out. Tell me, are the leaves quite soft?” Magda went to take the photo back but the Count held on, pulling Magda closer by the photo. 

“This one is more leathery,” Magda said. She hadn’t worked with tropical plants since college and her memory was a bit foggy on if it was also waxy in texture too. 

“A shame, I do love the sensation of velvet against the skin,” the Count said, tugging on the photo again. Magda didn’t let it go and shuffled a step closer.

“Actually,” she said, finally releasing the photo to flip through the others. “Here, this is red cockscomb, that feels velvety,” Magda said, handing over the photo. “If you don’t mind a touch of green then lamb’s ear is nice too,” Magda pulled out a photo of black mondo grass that had a potted lamb’s ear to the side and pointed it out to the Count. “And if you want a flower,” Magda had to flip through several photos before she found it, “here are a couple of variations of painted tongue. It’s also called velvet trumpet flower.” The Count took each photo in hand before dropping it to the floor.

“Cockscomb. Lamb’s ear. Painted tongue,” the Count said, taking the rest of the photo’s from Magda and tossing them over his shoulder, “what silly names.” The Count took Magda’s hand in his own and pulled her close, wrapping his free arm around her waist. 

“It’s easier than remembering Latin names,” Magda said, feeling her heart stutter a moment. There wasn’t much of a height difference between them and Magda felt as if she needed to be kissing him given how close their faces were. 

“Painted tongue,” the Count mused again, releasing Magda’s hand finally so he could run the pad of his index finger along her lower lip. “I have a mind as to what painted lips could do to warrant a painted tongue,” the Count said, giving a slow smile that was more smirk than smile. 

Magda felt her cheeks go hot as she flushed and a sharp pulse between her thighs made her lightly squirm. It felt almost instant that she started to soften in the Count's arms, letting her body mold to his. 

“You’ll have to enlighten me,” Magda said, only lightly stumbling over her words. The Count held her so close that she could feel his belt buckle press into her as well as his cock. 

“It would be my pleasure,” the Count said and dipped his head down to kiss her. Magda wrapped her arms the Count and held him close as he kissed her. The sweep of his tongue against hers made her weak kneed at the thought of what it would be like to have his mouth between her thighs.

Slowly, with a couple of missteps, the Count walked Magda backward until she bumped into a table. The Count broke away from the kiss long enough to take Magda by the waist and lift her onto the table, angling his hips so that Magda’s thighs hugged him tight. 

Feeling breathless from kissing the Count and shocked at his sudden display of strength, Magda let the Count struggle a moment to untuck her shirt so he could put his hands on her bare skin. 

Magda felt almost feverishly warm and the Count's hands were a cool soothing balm against her torso and back.

Magda reached for the Count to draw him into another kiss, softly moaning as the Count slid his hands down her back and between her shorts and underwear so that he could clutch the bare skin of her ass. The Count pulled Magda tight to himself, rocking his hips so that the thick line of his cock pressed into her. Magda never hated pants more than she did in that moment and shivered as she felt the fine pin pricks of his nails press into her skin.

“How red your lips look,” the Count said, breathing heavily as he pulled away to look at Magda, “it gives a man ideas.”

“What do you have in mind?” Magda asked. 

“Something positively wicked,” the Count said and buried his face into Magda’s neck so he could kiss the skin there. Magda tilted her head to let her hair fall to the side and squeezed her thighs around the Count’s hips as he continued to rock against her. 

Magda was nearly on the verge of laughing at the idea of necking with the Count, the scrape of his teeth exhilarating, when Renfield’s plaintive cry of, “Master! Your delivery has arrived!” shocked her into wrenching herself away from the Count like she’d been dunked in ice water. 

The Count sighed in annoyance, slowly untangling himself from Magda even as Magda was a little more frantic to right her clothes and get off the table.

“Another time,” the Count said, licking his bottom lip before turning away from Magda to yell at Renfield that he was coming. 


	13. *I Could Eat You Up*

“What a brute!” Marie said, gently touching the hickey the Count had left behind on Magda’s neck. “He didn’t break any skin did he?”

“No, but it looks like he wanted to maul me.” Magda set down the silver platter she had been using as a mirror to look at the hickey. Marie had all but shrieked at the sight of it once Magda had gone back to the kitchen. 

“Marking you like some young fool,” Marie said dismissively, “You should scold him for being so juvenile.”

“I’m sure Bertrand's done the same,” Magda said, smiling as Marie tried to hide her own fond smile. 

“He is a gentleman,” Marie said, “He never leaves a mark.”

“Visible,” Magda muttered and let out a short laugh at Marie’s protesting scoff. 

  
Magda’s bruise healed over the next two days but she didn’t see the Count until Bertrand made another surprise visit. The sun had just set and Marie was almost out the door for the evening when Bertrand came galloping up on his horse. Magda, from outside her cottage, watched as Bertrand reached down to Marie and caressed her face before riding off for the stable. Marie turned around and headed back into the kitchen, turning on a single light from what Magda could see.

Smiling at their affection for one another, Magda felt warmed by the exchange and hummed happily as she finished washing her arms and legs outside. She had already cleaned up for the evening and slipped on a loose fitting dress but then she had decided to pull on an apron and repotted the plants Marie had asked for. Her shins and hands had gotten a bit dirty but nothing extreme and she was ready to settle in for the evening. 

“Ms. Eastman!”Renfield cried, leaning halfway out of one of the second story windows. Magda jumped, looking around frantically until she spotted Renfield backlit in the window above the kitchen. “Ms. Eastman the Master wishes to see you!” Renfield shouted and then screamed as he flailed around, trying to pull himself back into the house and slamming the window shut. 

“Use the fucking phone!” Magda shouted back halfheartedly, dumping the water basin she had been using to clean herself up. She dried her hands and legs a little more vigorously than probably necessary and jammed her feet into her clogs a little too quick if her pinkie toe had any say but she trudged up to the Manor anyway.

Marie wasn’t in the kitchen by the time Magda got there and no one appeared to be in the downstairs rooms either. Feeling a bit of trepidation, Magda went to the second floor and lightly knocked on a few doors, pressing her ear to the wood to try and hear if anyone was in there. 

“Hello?” Magda called and screamed as the door before her opened and she was yanked into the room. Aside from Ingrid’s rooms, Magda hadn’t been above the first floor and was frantically trying to take everything in. Marie was still clutching her arm, having pulled her in, and Bertrand and the Count were stretched out on the floor, propped up by mounds of pillows. 

“Come! We’re celebrating!” Marie cried and pulled Magda over to the scattering of pillows. 

The room was full of instruments in various stages of being stored away in their carrying cases as well as easels scattered about with half finished paintings and charcoal drawings. Most of the light came from hurricane lamps and a handful of electric lamps that had scarves draped over them to diffuse the light. It all felt rather bohemian. 

“What are we celebrating?” Magda asked, kicking off her clogs so that she could sit down. The others were equally barefoot and Bertrand had even undone several buttons of his shirt to bare his chest. She watched Marie reach toward the Count where several wooden wine cups waited to be filled with wine and she noted the way the Count flinched away from the tinkling of Marie’s bracelets. 

“It’s a long story but good has triumphed over evil and Vlad has,” Bertrand paused, his eyes bright with excitement even as he seemed to be censoring himself.

“Vlad, my dearest boy, has received a promotion of sorts,” the Count said, carefully taking the wine that Marie handed him and waiting for the other cups to be handed out before saluting and taking a sip.

“Sounds exciting,” Magda said and sipped on her own wine. It was so rich and heavy it nearly tasted like port. Magda could already tell it wouldn’t take many refills before she was drunk. 

“Now that you’re here we can play ten pennies,” Marie said, getting back up so she could grab two decks of cards. They drank and laughed through several practice hands until Magda had the hang of it and was catching on enough to know the Count was cheating. 

“You’re cheating!” Magda cried, laughing as she reached for one of the Count’s pennies and dropped it into the kitty. 

“I would never!” the Count said, feigning shock and disdain as he reached over to Magda’s pennies and took one. 

“The scoundrel!” Bertrand said in mock censure before breaking into a big smile as Marie topped everyone’s wine cups up. They played several more hands, breaking open another bottle of wine and drinking that entirely too.

At some point Magda found herself cozied up to the Count, his arm wrapped around her shoulders as he held his cards in plain view. Magda giggled as she looked at his cards as well as her own. The Count all but pressed his lips to Magda’s ear as he told her his plan for what cards to use. 

“Not that one!” Magda cried, putting her hand over the Count’s to keep him from laying his two of spades down. 

“So the pupil has become the master then?” the Count asked, nuzzling the hair above Magda’s ear, causing her to laugh as he pretended to growl. Magda turned to look at the Count, her cheeks hurting from how much laughing and smiling she had done, and tried to solemnly tell him to, “Behave,” but she snorted at the end and they both broke into laughter.

“I think this is where we bid you adieu,” the Count said, raising his wine to Bertrand who was leaning over Marie as they shared a slow kiss. 

“Adieu,” Marie said, breaking away from Bertrand, “To you, and you, and you,” she said, looking first to the Count, then Magda, and finally Bertrand before breaking into a peel of laughter. Magda found herself giggling as Marie hurried to her feet and flew to the door, Bertrand hot on her heels. 

Marie let out a small shriek of delight as Bertrand scooped her up into his arms and spun her around before having her open the door. 

“Children, do behave,” the Count said primly.

“I hope not,” Marie said, reaching up to run her fingers through Bertrand’s hair. “Magda, he is the one you must look out for,” Marie said, nodding toward the Count. “C'est un vampire méchant,” Marie said, snickering, as Bertrand carried her out of the room.

Marie’s laughter could be heard all the way down the hallway and even a bit after another door was opened and slammed closed. 

“L’amour,” Magda sighed, getting to her feet, as unsteady an adventure as that was, and weaved her way to the open door. 

“The night is still young,” the Count said, both decks of cards somehow shuffled back into their respective boxes as he tucked them away into a cupboard. Magda knew she was rather drunk but she was surprised the Count was so quick to pick up the cards and steady on his feet. 

“You have something in mind?” Magda asked, her hand on the door as if she meant to close it. 

“That I do,” the Count said and gracefully dropped into a deep seated wicker chair. The cushion on the chair molded to him, the pale color of the fabric making him appear to be a dark iris amongst all that paleness. Magda hadn’t really taken any notice of the Count’s clothes that night until just then. He was in another black shirt, shocking, and an unbuttoned waistcoat in a beautiful teal jewel tone. His trousers were black but textured, as if they were expensive wool, and his only jewelry was a small pendant about his neck. Even though he was covered from neck to ankle he seemed to be almost naked.

“Should I be concerned? Marie says you’re a vampire and I wouldn’t want to end up undead,” Magda whispered, a hand brought up to her face as if she were trying to keep anyone else from reading her lips as she gossiped. 

“But of course, I am a wicked vampire. I have you under my thrall even as we speak,” the Count said, reaching his hand out toward Magda, slowly rotating his arm so that he curled each finger to his palm in a dramatic come here motion. 

“Thrall you say?” Magda asked, smiling as she eased the door shut. 

“Come to me, Magda. You know you can’t resist,” the Count commanded even as he smiled and used his index finger to beckon her over. 

“I feel so strange,” Magda said, pretending to throw a hand up to her forehead in dismay. 

“Come to me,” the Count said again and Magda felt his words pull at her chest and she couldn’t look away from his eyes – they were so bright in the lamplight – as she slowly walked toward him. 

Magda stood between the Count’s spread legs for a moment before she carefully dropped to her knees. She could feel that she was drunk in the way her skin felt as if it were on fire and the ever so gentle sway of the room. The room appeared to take a millisecond longer to turn with her as she looked around.

“Such beautifully painted lips,” the Count remarked, running his thumb along Magda’s bottom lip. Magda turned her head enough to capture the Count’s thumb between her lips and lightly sucked on it before letting it go. 

“Tell me what you want,” the Count said, leaning forward slightly. “What do you desire?” Magda felt the words pierce her chest even as the Count barely spoke above a whisper and in that moment she wanted to be reckless. 

“I think I should show you,” Magda said, her hands lightly resting on the Count’s thighs before pressing in harder and gliding up to the button closure of his trousers. The wool material was soft and parted easily under Magda’s hands, revealing the black underwear that the Count wore, his cock thick and hard and almost appearing above the waistband of his underwear. 

Magda eased the rest of the fabric hiding the Count’s cock aside, the Count shifting his hips to help her pull the material down. For a moment she just stared at him, their eyes locked, and then Magda smiled and took his cock in her hand, stroking him a few times. The Count moaned, his eyes fluttering closed as he breathed heavily through his nose. 

The Count felt cooler than she anticipated but Magda was quickly distracted by the fact that he was thicker and longer than she was used to and as she tilted her head down and took his cock between her lips her worries of body temperature were pushed aside. 

He was uncut and the sensation was far different than the last time she’d done this for someone. Not to mention that it was taking considerable effort to be mindful of her teeth and to breathe. Magda kept getting distracted by the Count’s hands in her hair, his nails scratching along her scalp deliciously, and the softness of his trousers against her forearms. She wanted to melt into the floor, the room feeling as if it were enveloping her as she sucked on the Count’s cock. 

Magda took him too deep down her throat, nearly gagging, but she froze as she panicked and tried to figure out how to keep from gagging. Foolishly, Magda sunk further down, her nose brushing against the hair at the base of his cock, before she felt the Count’s hands helping her to shift back. 

Rocking back on her heels, Magda kept her eyes closed, her mouth lightly parted as she panted and fought for breath. Her jaw ached from being stretched and she couldn’t erase the phantom sensation of the Count’s cock on her tongue. It was as if she could still feel it sliding back and forth. 

“Magda,” the Count said, his voice so deep it was nearly unrecognizable. 

“Yes?” She asked, her voice a tad horse. 

“Look at me,” the Count commanded and Magda felt her eyes snap open, the room too bright for a moment before she could focus on the Count’s face. He was lightly flushed but his eyes were so dark, his pupils so blown, that they took over every bit of color. The Count was also breathing heavily, his mouth hung open as his sharp teeth peaked out. 

Magda could only gasp as the Count surged forward, his arms lifting her up, their momentum carrying them all the way to the wall by the door where the Count lifted Magda into his arms. 

“I could eat you up,” the Count husked before kissing her. Magda moaned into the Count’s mouth, swearing that he was truly trying to eat her one kiss at a time. For a while she forgot that she had her legs wrapped firmly around his waist until the Count fumbled under the skirt of her dress and then she heard a ripping sound. The feel of the Count’s cock pushing into her was Magda’s clue that the Count had ripped her underwear away but she couldn’t stop kissing him. She didn’t want to stop running her hands over his back or pulling at his hair and she felt like she would die if his lips left hers. 

The Count slid hotly between her legs, missing her clit, but still feeling like lightning as he started to push inside. Magda tipped her head back, moaning loudly, her hands gripping the Count’s shoulders tightly as she felt the first inch of him inside of her. 

“Wait,” Magda said weakly. “Stop.” Magda felt the Count freeze under her, his face buried in her throat. “I can’t… we need… you should be wearing a condom,” Magda said as the tiniest bit of rationale snuck in. The part of her that was less in the moment was berating her for not having had a condom when she had her mouth on him earlier. 

“Of course,” the Count said, his voice gruff as he slipped out from inside her. Without meaning to Magda squeezed her thighs around the Count’s hips, already missing the fullness of him. 

“I didn’t mean,” Magda panted for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts. “I didn’t mean for this to go so far.” 

“We can stop,” the Count said and slowly lowered Magda down. 

“I don’t want to,” Magda confessed, hoping against hope that the Count would magically have a stash of condoms. 

“Let me,” the Count said, his words slurred as he sunk to his knees and smoothed his hands up Magda’s legs. “Let me,” he said again, his head disappearing beneath Magda’s skirt. The Count drew her left thigh over his shoulder and that was the only warning Magda had before she felt his tongue lick a slow stripe against her. 

He sucked and licked at her as if he were eating his favorite sweet, his tongue against her clit making Magda shake so hard she thought her legs would give out. Magda couldn’t keep her hands still as she felt the Count’s broad, soft tongue tease her clit until she was crying out in release. 

Magda cursed, her legs shaking as the Count’s jaw worked against her and his lips found her clit so that he could suck on her and suddenly Magda was coming again, knocked breathless and crumpling to the floor in a heap. 

The Count laughed, crawling up and over Magda so that he hovered above her. The sudden rush of blood to her head and the alcohol made Magda feel as if she were floating. Her arms were iron bars but somehow she still managed to shoot them up to the Count as if they were feathers she had blown on to keep in the air. 

When Magda drew the Count down to kiss her she could taste herself and it made her giggle and she continued to giggle as the Count rolled them over. Magda let herself rest fully on the Count for a moment before easing back to sit upright. The room was spinning a bit more than it had previously and Magda closed her eyes against it, trying to center herself.

She could feel the Count’s cock press against her ass and she sighed, wanting to ride him right here in some random room in the house, on the floor, without a care in the world, but she also very much did not want to get pregnant. 

“We should stop,” Magda said even as she leaned down to kiss the Count. Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe she was sobering up but she could suddenly just feel more. The light rasp of the Count’s five o’clock shadow. The silky texture of the Count’s hair. The way his lips were so warm but the rest of him was cool as could be. Her own skin felt feverish in comparison. 

“We should,” the Count agreed even as his hands found the bare skin of her legs again and drew up to her ass. Magda moaned as his nails scratched across her skin and she more or less rested her lips against the Count’s instead of really kissing him. 

“Just… five more minutes,” Magda said against the Count’s mouth and laughed at herself, the Count joining in to laugh as well as Magda pulled him to roll over so that she was beneath him again. 

Magda used her arms and legs to pull the Count close, welcoming the weight of his body on top of hers. The feel of his cock sliding against her and then suddenly inside of her was a torture she didn’t know she wanted or needed. Magda tipped her head back and let out a strained moan, her legs tightening around the Count’s hips as he went to pull away. 

“You are temptation incarnate,” the Count moaned and then the world spun again until Magda was on top once more, the Count lifting her up so that he slid out of her. 

“Ok,” Magda panted, her eyes closed and her forehead pressed against the Count’s as she hunched over. “Ok, I’m stopping. Right now.” 


	14. Under Your Skin

“I was a drunken mess,” Magda bemoaned to Marie, three days later after Bertrand had left and Marie had surfaced to the world. Magda had taken the next day to nurse her hangover before getting back to the grounds. 

“I sincerely doubt that,” Marie said, blowing on her coffee before taking a sip. The morning was just a touch too rainy to be doing much outside and so Magda was having a leisurely breakfast with Marie. 

“I nearly gagged on him and then,” Marie scoffed at Magda, cutting her off, and waved whatever self-deprecating comment Magda had about herself away. 

“You had enough sense to stop,” Marie said and Magda felt herself blush. She wasn’t so sure if the Count hadn’t moved her physically off his cock if she would have kept to her word and not had sex with him without a condom. 

“I shouldn’t be having sex with him,” Magda sighed, slumping forward until she had her head on the table. She hadn’t seen the Count since their encounter and a part of her was regretting taking things so far. 

“Why not?” Marie asked between bites of her omelet. 

“Sexing up my paycheck and landlord rarely ends well. I just feel like this is going to end poorly.” Magda sighed heavily and drew herself up enough to prop her chin up in her hand. 

“Doesn’t mean you can’t have some fun,” Marie said. Magda pushed off the table and tipped back in her chair for a moment.

“You’re supposed to tell me to go find some local in town to fuck to get my mind off the Count.” Marie just shrugged in reply. 

“I’m a romantic. There’s just something terribly dramatic about it all,” Marie said, gesturing about the room with her hand. “And he clearly wants you and is willing to bend over backwards for you. The last gardener was gone within a month.” Magda laughed at that, clutching her coffee cup with both hands. 

“If this is him on good behavior,” Magda said, tapering off as she imagined just how much worse the Count would have to be to drive someone to quit in a months time. Or at least how much worse he’d have to be to drive her to quit after a month.

“Just remember, don’t let him get under your skin.” 

  
The rain continued for the rest of the day, making it impossible for Magda to complete the mowing she had wanted to do, and it only tapered off by the evening and at that point Magda had played countless hands of Scopa with Marie and resigned herself to getting nothing done. 

There had been a number of deliveries for the Count but nothing exciting that Magda could see. 

“It’s your turn to change the record,” Marie said, the Marty Robbins album they had been listening to ending. 

“It was my turn last time,” Magda said, pouting. At about lunch Magda had tiptoed into the interior of the Manor and swiped the traveling record player and a massive stack of records. It had made for an interesting evening as Magda and Marie heckled each other for their music selections. 

“Not true, I selected Marty,” Marie said. 

“Bullshit,” Magda chided good naturedly as she picked up the cards. Marie grabbed some dried noodles and dramatically tossed them to the kitchen counter as Magda said, “I selected Marty and then you called me an American sympathizer.” 

“My hands are full,” Marie said, grabbing the milk and several cheeses from the fridge. “Just put something good on.”

“All my selections have been good,” Magda said, making her way to the record player and flipping through the albums she hadn’t played yet. Most of the cast offs were operas and experimental jazz records. Genres that neither Magda or Marie had been particularly keen on playing. 

The kitchen phone rang then and Marie quickly dropped whatever was in her hands to hustle over and pick it up. 

“Monsieur,” Marie said and then was quiet for a long moment. Magda watched as Marie went from listening politely to frowning and then looking positively volcanic at whatever requests the Count was making. The deep crease between her brown eyes as she scowled made Magda hesitate from putting another record on. 

“I will not,” Marie said vehemently, cursing in French before falling silent to listen to whatever rebuttal the Count had.

“Renfield can serve them champagne, I will not be cooking a single thing this late in the evening,” Marie said and slammed the phone down on the hook. Magda felt her brows shoot near up to her hairline, shocked. 

“What was that about?”

“The Count has guests and wants hors d'oeuvre,” Marie replied.

“At this hour?”

“Precisely,” Marie said, her footsteps heavy as she went over to the range and noisily took down pots to start boiling water. “The nerve of him,” Marie huffed under her breath. “And he complained about the record player. The child,” Marie continued to mutter to herself in French, her movements sharp as she used more force than probably necessary to start chopping the assortment of cheese she had into cubes. 

“I’ll just,” Magda said, grabbing up the record player and the stack of records, “be right back.” Magda slipped out of the kitchen and tiptoed back to the smaller parlor room where she had swiped the record player from. 

“Goodness, a thief at this hour?” Magda visibly jumped at the excessively posh accent that sounded somewhere to her right. Swinging around Magda nearly dropped the record player and albums that she carried. 

She hadn’t expected to see the Count nor a guest in the parlor. In fact she hadn’t heard them at all when she had paused to listen to see if anyone was in the room. 

“Or is this dinner and entertainment?” the guest asked, simpering at his own joke. The Count gave a tight lipped smile in return and Magda could hear his hands tighten around the cane that he held. He was in some sort of fancy red coat that ended around his knees and was only broken up by heavy black embroidery. The Count’s guest was much more relaxed in a gray turtleneck with a black jumper tied loosely over his shoulders. His black slacks and shoes were equally boring in comparison to the Count’s knee high boots. 

“Hardly,” the Count said, sounding impatient. 

“Is she for eating?” the guest asked and Magda jerked back in surprise as the guest went from standing right next to the Count to suddenly in front of her. She stumbled under the weight of the records and cried out in alarm as the guest knocked the records and player out of her hands so that they went crashing to the floor. 

“Hillary, enough,” the Count said, scolding him. Magda couldn’t figure out who or what to look at as she cycled through being in absolute shock that this man had just ruined the Count’s player and most if not all the records Magda had been holding. 

“A tad rough for my tastes,” Hillary said, shaking his blond hair out of his eyes as he turned his head enough to look over his shoulder at the Count. 

“How fortunate considering she isn’t _for you_ ,” the Count snapped. Magda finally managed to close her mouth, shuffling back a step from the wreckage of the records. 

“Come now, I should hate to tell Beatrix how positively awful a host you have become in your old age,” Hillary said and reached out to grasp Magda’s forearm. Magda tried to jerk her arm away but Hillary’s grip was surprisingly strong and ice cold at that. 

“A guest only takes what they’re offered,” the Count said, grabbing up his cane in his right hand like he meant to backhand Hillary with it. 

“Then what do you call this?” Hillary asked, shaking Magda’s arm as he raised it. Magda tried tugging on her arm again but Hillary wouldn’t let go. She sucked in a deep breath, ready to scream or yell or both but the Count held up his left hand to Magda as if to silence her. 

“Come to me,” the Count said calmly, his hand turning over so that his palm faced upward. Magda gave an uncertain side look to Hillary before carefully stepping around the broken records, pointedly yanking her arm from Hillary’s grasp as she walked toward the Count. 

“What the fuck is going on?” Magda mouthed to the Count but he didn’t reply. 

“Staking your claim, old boy?” Hillary asked, chuckling to himself. Magda took the Count’s outstretched hand and dared a look over her shoulder at Hillary. He was all casual elegance as he posed with one hand in his pocket and his other hand held up as if he were lazily inspecting his nails. 

“Merely reminding you of your place,” the Count said. 

“Parlor tricks? How gauche,” Hillary snorted. 

“Does she look to be under my thrall to you?” the Count asked, drawing Magda closer. Magda turned to look back to the Count, her better judgement about this situation finally kicking in as her heart started to hammer in her chest. 

“Forgive me for being unimpressed by a simpleton peasant,” Hillary said, his head tilting back ever so slightly as he stared down his sharp nose. 

“I swear to God that better not have been meant for me,” Magda said darkly, her head snapping back over her shoulder so that she could glare at Hillary. She was about to lay hands on some pompous blond prick and so help her god if the Count tried to do anything to stop her. 

“Of course not my sweet,” the Count said, his cane clattering to the floor as he dropped it and used his now free hand to turn Magda back to look at him. “Hillary knows I would rip both his arms off and impale him on his own forearms if he were to impugn the honor of my companion.” The Count’s gaze was tender as he stared at Magda but turned serious as he leaned to the side enough to see Hillary over Magda’s shoulder. 

“I am aquiver,” Hillary said, sounding disinterested. 

“Manners,” the Count hissed and when he turned his gaze back to Magda’s it was a vivid red that shocked Magda. Magda gasped as the Count opened his mouth and sharp fangs appeared. She barely had time to think or react before the Count had pulled her against his chest and pushed her canvas shirt aside so that he could bite into her neck. 

Magda cried out, the initial pain and fear of what was going on quickly replaced by a euphoria that made her melt against the Count. Her legs, just seconds ago locked in shock, were now gelatin as she let the Count hold her up in his arms. The sensation of the Count sucking on her neck was a distant memory in comparison to the overwhelming pleasure she suddenly felt. Every pull of the Count’s lips felt as if he were pulling straight from her very center of being. 

The moment ended quickly though and Magda was left moaning as she felt the Count’s teeth leave her neck and he gave several long, slow, licks to where he had bit before pulling back. 

Magda stared up at the Count and gasped as he lifted her into his arms as if she weighed nothing. 

“Shall I clap when you toss her down to piss on her next to mark what is yours?” Hillary asked, drawing Magda out of her fugue. Reality started to sink in and Magda shakily brought her hand up to caress the side of the Count’s face. He had blood all over his lips and a trickle of it starting at the corner of his mouth. 

“You shall go back to the kitchen and forget this,” the Count said. Magda could feel that the Count still held her solidly in his arms but at the same time he seemed to be drifting further and further away until it was almost an unbearable effort to keep her arm raised and her fingertips lightly touching his cheek. What had he done?

“It smells great!” Magda said, entering the kitchen. “I can’t believe you’re already done.” Marie turned around sharply, a knife raised but only half heartedly. 

“Where have,” Marie began to ask but paled as her gaze dropped to Magda’s neck. Magda, suddenly feeling a wave of tiredness overtake her, yawned and gave a light stretch.

“Actually, I think I might skip dinner and just go to bed. I can’t believe bringing those records back wore me out,” Magda said, passing through the kitchen and towards the door. Marie shakily wished Magda a good night and Magda stumbled her way to her cottage, crawling into bed only after she had taken off her shoes but nothing else. She was just so tired and it seemed like too much effort to change out of her clothes. 


	15. A Small Bug

Magda woke slowly, feeling rotten and like her head was full of cotton. It was a struggle to get up enough to change into her nightclothes let alone send a barely coherent text message to Marie saying she was taking a sick day. She felt positively drained and she slept straight until noon when Marie came to her door to check on her.

“I come with gifts,” Marie said, opening the door, a picnic basket in hand. Magda opened one eye slowly, hardly able to focus on Marie as she walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. 

“I think I’m dying,” Magda whined, weakly trying to push herself up into a sitting positon but failing. 

“Let’s hope not,” Marie said. Marie smoothed her hand over Magda’s forehead and frowned at how clammy she felt. She muttered something that Magda didn’t catch but Magda hardly cared, she just wanted to go back to sleep.

“It’s just a small bug, we’ll get some food into you and you’ll start feeling better.” Marie helped Magda sit upright and chatted with her, doing most of the talking, until Magda had eaten enough to make Marie happy. 

“Is this pineapple juice?” Magda asked, unable to stop drinking the pale yellow juice. She couldn’t get enough of the sweet flavor or how cool it felt going down her throat. It was as if she’d never had juice before and was now just discovering the miracle of pressed fruit. 

“With some mango juice,” Marie said, taking the empty glass bottle from Magda and placing it back in the picnic basket. “I’ll come back around during the evening.” Magda just nodded, feeling better but still exhausted.

“You’re such a good friend,” Magda said just before she drifted off again.

  
True to her word, Marie came back just before sundown with more juice and another picnic basket full of food. Magda ate the breakfast sandwich that Marie had made as if she’d never tasted anything like it in the world and she would have gladly eaten five more avocado’s too.

“Everything just tastes so good,” Magda said, licking the salt and pepper from the avocado off her lips. There was a container of blueberries as well as some cheese curds and Magda was finally feeling less ravenous so she sheepishly offered the blueberries and cheese curds to Marie.

“They’re for you. I’ve eaten,” Marie said, reaching forward to feel Magda’s forehead. She felt less clammy but Magda still saw the way Marie frowned. 

“I’m heading out for the evening. You can bring the dishes and basket up to the Manor tomorrow when you’re feeling better otherwise I’ll came to collect them.” Marie did a bit of tidying up before she left. 

“Magda,” Marie said solemnly at the door of the cottage, “When he comes tonight, don’t let him in.” Magda wanted to ask, “Who?” but she was already too sleepy to ask and just nodded her head in agreement. The last thing she heard before drifting off was the cottage door being locked. 

  
The steady tapping of something hitting her window woke Magda enough that she rolled over to look towards the window near the bathtub. The cottage was mostly one room, the toilet being the exception as it was in its own tiny closet, and so Magda was momentarily startled to see a pale face hovering at the window. 

Heart racing, Magda scrambled to sit upright, breathing hard as she finally recognized the Count’s face and gave a shaking sigh of relief. 

The Count tapped on the window with his nail again and it slowly budged open. Magda twisted her bedsheets in her fists and pressed her back harder into the headboard. It was quite late for the Count to be making a social call, even given his past history of sitting below her window, and Magda felt uncertain of his presence. 

“Good evening,” the Count said, holding the window open with one hand. It must have been cloudy or the moon was new as there was very little light and the rings the Count wore barely reflected in whatever ambient light there was. 

“Hello,” Magda said, her voice hoarse. 

“I hear you are feeling poorly,” the Count said and Magda shifted on the bed, wondering how long was appropriate before she told him to leave so she could go back to sleep. 

“Yeah, I don’t know what’s come over me,” Magda said. The Count gave a polite smile and quickly glanced about the room. 

“Would you care for a story?” the Count asked, suddenly holding up a paperback. Magda felt whatever momentary adrenaline had spiked through her leave and it was becoming harder to keep her eyes open. 

“Maybe not tonight, I’m pretty tired,” Magda said. Would he get the hint? 

“I could come in and read to you until you fell asleep,” the Count offered and Magda thought about how soothing the Count’s voice was when he read and it would be nice to listen to him as she drifted off. But Marie’s warning came back to her suddenly and even though she did find herself very much wanting to invite the Count in Magda shook her head no. 

“That’s okay,” Magda declined, “thank you for offering.” Magda stared at the Count for several beats after that before he closed the window silently and drifted into the darkness and back to the Manor. Even though Magda was desperately tired she had a hard time falling asleep and the smallest noises startled her into wakefulness before utter exhaustion had her tumbling into a dreamless sleep. 


	16. The Kids Too?

“Marie! Stop it,” Magda said, swatting Marie’s hands away. She was feeling leagues better in the morning but she was still taking it easy.

“You shouldn’t push yourself if you’re not fully recovered,” Marie said, her fingers pressing along Magda’s throat, as if she were checking for swollen glands or something. 

“I told you, I’m feeling better, maybe not eight hours of hard manual labor better but I can certainly walk the grounds.” Marie backed off a step, her hands going to her hips as she frowned at Magda. 

“No sensitivity to the sun?” Marie asked.

“What? Like a headache?” Magda shook her head and grabbed her coffee and a muffin to go. “I’ll be back for lunch.” 

Unsurprisingly Magda found quite a bit to do, even if she did it at a slow pace, and worked up a sweat in the meantime. By the time she came back to the Manor for lunch she was sweating rather a lot and felt clammy and breathing was a bit of a chore.

“Mon Dieu!” Marie cursed, hurrying to fill a glass with water and shove it into Magda’s hand to drink. Magda staggered into one of the kitchen chairs and sat down heavily. She drank the whole glass down without pausing and panted as she all but slammed the glass down onto the table when she finished. Marie handed her a quartered orange and Magda bit into each quarter eagerly, drinking the juice down greedily and eating the pulp, pith and all, until just the rind was left. 

“Fuck,” Magda panted as she realized she had gotten orange juice over her shirt. 

“Come, take a shower,” Marie said, taking the rinds and empty glass away.

“I don’t know if I have the energy for a bath,” Magda said, looking over her shoulder towards her little cottage. The thought of filling the bathtub felt exhausting even though she knew she’d be lying down. 

“You can use the en suite here,” Marie offered, showing Magda to the tiny maid’s room that was off the kitchen. There was a tiny but tidy bathroom as well as a small room with a single bed. The room was a tad musty but Marie opened all of the windows and turned on the overhead fan.

“Give me your shirt and underthings. I’ll wash them up and dry them for you.”

“Thank you, Marie,” Magda said heavily, stripping down without a second thought and handing her clothes to Marie. The shower took a couple of minutes to run clear and stop smelling like sulfur but the water felt wonderful. Magda spent most of her shower leaning against the cool tiles of the shower, listening as Marie came back into the room and put fresh towels on the sink and changed the sheets on the bed.

A strange sense of being watched overcame Magda and she shielded her eyes from the water of the shower as she tried to peer around the curtain without opening it. Had Marie come back with her clothes already? 

Magda turned the shower off and waited a second before opening the curtain. She could feel her heart hammering but there was no one in the bathroom with her and there was no one in the bedroom either. All that she could see was her drawn face staring back at her in the mirror above the sink. 

Feeling horribly tired, Magda toweled off her hair and wrapped herself in the towel, weaving her way to the bed and lying down. The bed squeaked and the frame all but rattled at her weight but it held and Magda groaned in exhaustion. She didn’t feel clammy anymore but she was exhausted. So exhausted that she fell asleep.

Magda dreamt that the Count stepped into the room, his movements careful as he closed the curtains and gingerly sat on the bed with her. He was in all black with shiny black boots and an emerald cravat at his throat. A fat emerald pin was added to the cravat and Magda couldn’t help but lazily reach out toward the gem. It felt like it was so shiny and so big. She had the strangest urge to swallow it. 

“You poor dear,” the Count murmured, his cool hand smoothing over Magda’s brow. Magda closed her eyes and pressed her face into his hand. His skin was positively chilly and it felt good against her warm flesh. 

“I don’t know what’s come over me,” Magda whispered, her lips moving against the Count’s palm. She opened her eyes to look about the room and realized it had become night. There were sconces that softly lit the room and the Count was cast in shadow as he hovered over her. 

“You needn’t worry that pretty little head,” The Count mused, lightly running the nail of his index finger down her cheek and along her throat until he circled the hollow of her throat. “We’ll get you to rights, Magda,” the Count said, leaning in toward her. The Count’s eyes felt electric in that moment, so impossibly blue that they glowed in the darkness of the room.

“Magda.”

The sconces flickered, almost extinguishing before blazing bright and then leveling.

“Magda.” 

The Count’s face hovered ever closer but when Magda reached toward his face – whether to pull him towards her or push him away she wasn’t able to say – she couldn’t reach him.

“Magda!”

Magda jumped awake, clutching at her towel and panting as she looked at Marie. Marie had dropped the clothes in her hands and had a kitchen knife brandished. 

“What?” Magda asked, her throat feeling sore. Marie just huffed and threw the curtains open before grabbing up Magda’s clothes and dumping them on her legs. 

“I think I need to make a special call,” Marie said.

  
That night Bertrand appeared, looking as serious as ever, but this time he came with a sack full of books and another sack full of knickknacks.

“Listen, I’m no stranger to alternative practices but I’m… I’m not really into witchcraft,” Magda tried to say tactfully as she watched Bertrand heft the entire kitchen table up on one end like it weighed nothing. She felt her eyes go big and round at the casual display of strength. Bertrand began to draw several seemingly nonsense symbols on the wood floor in chalk, occasionally referencing one of his books.

“Luckily for you, Ms. Eastman, you needn’t be a practitioner,” Bertrand said, but his focus was more on whatever he had been drawing. 

“I take it the Count doesn’t know,” Bertrand said. Magda looked to Marie and Marie was stood there, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she shook her head no. 

“He knows I’m here though,” Bertrand said, as if he were reminding Marie. 

“We’ll cover our tracks,” Marie told him and Magda was having serious reservations about not retreating to her cottage. 

“Ms. Eastman,” Bertrand said, motioning for her to step in the middle of all the symbols he had drawn. Some looked geometric in nature. Others were fairly runic. Others looked like an alphabet but the shapes were more rounded, less jagged. 

“I’m not ungrateful for being included in… in this,” Magda began, unsure of what it was they were even doing, “but I would love an explanation of what’s going on.” 

Marie helped Bertrand light several candles, placing them at intervals around where Magda stood. 

“It’s a protection spell,” Bertrand said, as if it were the most reasonable thing to say. 

“Oh, coolcoolcoolcoolcool,” Magda rattled off under her breath. “So, like, protection from what? Or… who?” 

Marie came up to stand before Magda but she kept her arms held tight to her body, her hands squeezing her own biceps so hard that Magda thought it looked painful. 

“Count Dracula is a vampire,” Marie whispered. Magda stopped herself from making some sort of witty remark in return as Marie’s gaze became watery as if she were about to start crying. “He was supposed to tell you. I… I was hoping you would leave before you found out but…” Marie looked away for a moment, swallowing audibly. She looked regretful. 

“This is real,” Magda said, her own words sounding hollow. 

“Very real,” Bertrand confirmed, pouring black sand carefully into tiny little wooden bowls. 

“And you? You’re as well?” Magda asked. Bertrand paused for a moment, taking several seconds before looking up at her from where he kneeled, and nodded his head. 

“Then why’re you helping me if you’re… if you’re like him?” Magda looked between Bertrand and Marie and scolded herself for not realizing the answer that was right before her. Why would a vampire protect a human from another vampire? Because that vampire was in love with a mortal. 

“Can’t you just talk to him? Tell him not to hurt me?” Magda asked, feeling like this was the obvious choice.

“He’s already hurt you,” Marie said, one of her own hands going to her throat unconsciously. Magda couldn’t help but mimic the motion and felt shock at the realization that the Count must have bitten her even if she couldn’t remember it. Was that why she had been so sick? 

“It’s not my place to explain,” Bertrand said, standing up, “and I am only able to do so much. The Count is,” Bertrand looked out the kitchen windows, seemingly lost in thought. “I must tread carefully. This is how I’m choosing to do it.” 

“By what? Keeping the Count from biting me?” Magda asked and almost laughed at how silly she sounded. The Count! A vampire! It was all so ridiculous that she almost couldn’t stand it. 

“This will keep the Count from controlling your mind,” Bertrand clarified and brought up a fistful of fine grained navy colored sand and blew on it so that it spread out in a great cloud around Magda. She immediately started coughing, trying to wave the sand away, but it didn’t help any and she coughed until she fell to her knees and then passed out. 

Magda woke, groggy, her lungs feeling tight and it took a second to realize why she was on the floor and Marie was cradling her in her arms. With a jolt, everything came back and she wrenched herself away from Marie, drawing up short as she felt nausea and vertigo set in. The sensation passed but Magda still didn’t feel ready to stand up. 

Bertrand and his books and knickknacks were gone but the kitchen table was still up on its side. 

“He’s a vampire,” Magda said softly. “They’re both vampires.” Marie was silent behind her but Magda could still feel her there. “And the kids too?” Magda turned enough to look over her shoulder at Marie who just nodded. 

“I don’t know if I agree with this,” Magda said, gesturing about the room. Why hadn’t Marie told her sooner? Why had she let her be alone with the Count? Was there something special about his bite? Is that why Marie had been so adamant that she not let the Count catch her by surprise?

“I wanted to protect you,” Marie said. 

“Why did you tell me to sleep with him?” Magda asked, her throat tightening as she felt tears well. 

“If all you did was sleep with him,” Marie began, “If he hadn’t bitten you,” Marie sighed and rubbed at her temples. “He was harmless until he bit you. I didn’t think,”

“Oh?”

“I didn’t think he would bite you,” Marie said, her tone sounding almost pleading. “I knew he wanted you – in his bed – and I could tell you,”

“I didn’t even think about sleeping with him until you said something,” Magda said, cutting Marie off again.

“I’m sorry,” Marie said softly, moving so that she was pressed against Magda’s back and had her arms wrapped around her. “I’m sorry I led you wrong.” 

“What, now?” Magda asked. 

“We keep going about our lives.” 


	17. **A Person Too**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has non-con elements to it. Skip to the end notes for a recap.

Magda did her best to delay her meeting with the Count but the closer it grew to sunset the more nervous she became. 

“I have the budget plans for the rest of the summer,” Magda said by way of greeting. The Count was posed near the fireplace, having invited Magda to come find him in the library. The curtains, as usual, were drawn closed but this time Magda understood why. She tried to make her steps casual as she stood by one set of windows, laying a copy of the budget on the side table near her and gripping her own copy of the budget tightly in her hands. 

_“Boring,”_ the Count whined and casually pushed off from the fireplace. He was in a plum colored coat that reached his ankles and it was buttoned all the way from neck to knee so that only his boots and lilac cravat were visible. Magda was suddenly very conscious of how much skin she was showing. She normally never thought twice about the length of her shorts or how many buttons were undone on her shirt. 

“I promise to keep it short,” Magda said, her calf tightening uncomfortably as she fought to keep from jumping as the sensation of the velvet curtain behind her slid across her skin. She barely registered the fact that she had taken a half step back as the Count came toward her. 

“I’m sure we can find some other way to occupy our time,” the Count said, his blue eyes turning gold. Magda visibly swallowed and reached back behind her to grab a fistful of the curtain. 

“Like I said,” Magda started and fought back a scream as the Count appeared in front of her, his firm, unbreakable, grasp around her wrist so sudden she could only gasp. 

“I am not fond of the sun,” the Count hissed, the gold of his eyes edging into red, “But something tells me you already know that.” 

“I,”

“No need to play the ingénue with me,” the Count said, “Ignorance is so unbecoming.” Magda frowned, pushing at the Count’s chest with her free hand out of anger, her copy of the budget falling to the floor. 

“So what now? You’re going to bite me? Kill me? What?” Magda demanded, trying to shake the Count’s grip off her wrist. 

“I _had_ found myself so very infatuated with your lovely blood,” the Count said.

“Not hungry anymore now that you can’t control my mind?” Magda asked bitterly. 

The Count pulled Magda tight to his body using her wrist, wrapping his free arm around her so firmly she felt like she’d never be able to get away. 

“I am always _hungry,”_ the Count husked, his gaze traveling over her face and down to her chest before meandering back up. “But I find myself thinking back to the night we played cards.” Magda felt herself blush at the memory. The Count, impossibly, leaned even closer as he whispered, “I dream of your lovely thighs around my head.” The Count pressed his lips against Magda’s ear and said, “Of the way your cunt clutched at my cock.” Magda shivered for a moment, brought back to when she had felt the Count slide into her and she hadn’t wanted to end it there. “We needn’t let this trifle stand in the way of what we so both so desperately want,” The Count said and Magda couldn’t help the way her thighs squeezed around the Count’s leg as he slipped it between her own. 

“N-now wait just a minute,” Magda stuttered and pushed against the Count’s shoulders with both hands. The Count finally let go of her wrist and let himself be pushed back until Magda had backed him up and into one of the club chairs in the room. He sat down heavily, his knees falling wide so that Magda was stood between them. A hot flush raced up from her toes as she was distinctly reminded of the last time she was stood between his knees and the wicked smile that the Count gave in turn seemed to say that he was thinking the same thing. 

“I’ve no qualms if you wish to be on top,” the Count said, reaching up to the button at his throat to start undoing it.

 _“No,”_ Magda said sternly, making the Count pause. 

“There are going to be some ground rules,” the Count raised one brow in question, his hands still toying with his coat button, “and I want you to respect them,” Magda said. She was breathing deeply, she could feel the way her shoulders were moving up and down and her hands were balled into fists. 

“Oh?”

“Yes,” Magda snapped, stopping herself short of stomping her foot in frustration. “You can’t bite me. And you can’t try to manipulate me. Or hurt Marie. Or-or even me,” Magda said, becoming heated, her voice gaining volume as she spoke. “And you can’t let any of your vampire _friends_ bite me or hurt me either.” Magda was breathing even harder now. “And I’m tired of you belittling me. That all stops _now.”_

The Count just stared up at her, any attempt he was making to keep from smiling weak at best. 

“Any other _demands?”_ The Count asked, covering his mouth a moment as he gave a full smile. 

“Yes, you’re going to take me seriously. You’re going to respect the work I do and _listen to me_ when I talk about the grounds.” 

“And why would I do that?” the Count asked, smothering a laugh. 

Magda, unable to take the Count laughing at her and feeling terribly on edge about this whole vampire thing, yelled, “Because I am a person and I deserve respect!” She felt her eyes become wet with tears and her face burned with heat as she fought to keep from crying in front of him. 

It only took a blink but the Count went from sitting right in front of her to behind her, one hand threading his fingers into her hair to pull her head to the side so her neck was bared and his other hand sliding down the front of her shorts. 

“I am a vampire, my dear,” the Count said lowly, his lips against her ear before moving so that his teeth tugged on her earlobe. “What care I for breather demands?” The Count kissed her right where her jaw met her neck and moaned. 

Magda grabbed the Count’s hands and yanked them from her body, ripping herself out of the Count’s hold, stumbling as she did. 

Her heart hammered so hard in her chest it felt like she was going to pass out. 

“Because… because against my better judgement,” Magda said, her breaths labored liked she’d been running, “I still, somehow, _stupidly,_ want to sleep with you.” 

The Count’s eyes, glowing that dangerous gold hue, faded to their usual blue and he fussed with his cuffs for a moment before lazily walking over to the copy of the budget that Magda had dropped to the ground. He picked it up and silently perused several pages before looking back at Magda. 

“Yes?” the Count asked, giving Magda the once over as she just stood there. 

“That’s it? Just… we’re going to talk about the budget now?” 

“My dear,” the Count said congenially, grabbing the other report and walking it over to Magda, “It’s always nice to be wanted.” 

Magda felt her face darken into anger but the Count immediately went back to the budget, questioning why he needed to invest in battery operated equipment. 

Magda went over the report with him but did so at the bay window, opening the curtain and the window itself so she could sit on the ledge in the sun. The Count kept his distance in the shadows of the library and rattled off his grievances about how costly everything was but didn’t outright refuse anything that Magda proposed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recap for those who chose to skip: Magda tries to go over the budget for the grounds with the Count.The Count is a dick. They argue. The Count gets way too handsy with Magda. Magda, against her better judgement, tells the Count she does, indeed, still want the D even though he's an asshole. The Count backs off. Unclear if the Count is going to stop belittling Magda though.


	18. What's This About?

“Are you okay?” Marie asked Magda. They were seated outside for dinner, Magda having fashioned a lovely patio off the kitchen for them to eat at. 

“I just… sometimes I have a hard time with,” Magda trailed off as she lightly stabbed her paneer with her fork. 

“It was the same for me when I learned of him,” Marie said. “There are moments where it doesn’t seem real.” Magda nodded in agreement, unsure of how to put into words what she was feeling. 

A part of her wanted to flee and another other part wanted to stay and yet she couldn’t make sense of the part of her that wanted to stay. Was she still somehow under the Count’s thrall? 

“Am I an idiot for staying?” Magda asked aloud. 

“Fuck,” Marie cursed under her breath, making Magda look over her shoulder. She hadn’t heard a car come down the drive but she saw Vlad as he walked towards them, his hands casually in his pants pockets. 

Magda pressed a hand to her chest, wincing as her heart stuttered a moment in fear. The sun was still out, although fading, and yet Vlad walked under its rays like it was nothing. 

“I thought you said,” Magda wheezed out, clamoring to her feet, nearly knocking her food to the ground. “I thought…”

“Vlad is… special,” Marie whispered, rising to her feet as well but instead of stumbling back she stepped toward Vlad and embraced him, giving him air kisses over each cheek. It wasn’t lost on Magda though that Marie had picked up her steak knife and palmed it in her hand. 

“I think special is a bit grandiose,” Vlad said, taking a step back from Marie and just nodding at Magda. 

“A vampire that walks in the day… what is that if not special?” Marie asked, retreating to grab up her wine glass and take a sip, almost like she was trying to calm her nerves. 

Vlad’s gaze turned sharp and his expression, how ever quick, was thunderous as he glared at Marie before relaxing into a pleasant smile. 

“Father said there have been some,” Vlad looked up at the sky, the setting sun bright on his face, “revelations I guess you could say.” 

Magda wanted to keep from rolling her eyes at Vlad but the most she managed was just pulling a face that clearly said, “No shit.” 

“Magda, I wanted to ask if you’d walk with me,” Vlad said, holding his arm out like he meant for Magda to loop her arm through his own. 

Magda looked to Marie, frowning as she hesitated to go with Vlad. Wasn’t he equally as dangerous as the Count? Wasn’t that why Marie kept a knife on her when Vlad was near? Did Bertrand’s protection spell work against Vlad?

“I swear,” Vlad began, “I am not here to harm you.” 

Magda sighed heavily and made slow steps toward Vlad. 

Vlad waited for her to take his arm but Magda just kept walking.

“This isn’t some novel, Count Fosco, I can walk on my own just fine,” Magda muttered, conscious of the fact that she was still in her scuffed up work boots but Vlad appeared to be wearing fine leather brogues. She purposefully chose to walk in the grass instead of heading toward the foot path.

“Fosco?” Vlad asked, his voice light with laughter. “I can assure you I’m much more of a Hartright.” 

Magda did roll her eyes then, “Halcombe if I want to be generous.” 

“Are you saying I’m not attractive?” Vlad asked even as he smiled. Magda couldn’t help blushing and cleared her throat, walking a little faster. 

“So… what’s this about?” Magda asked after they were some distance from Marie. 

“My father, unsurprisingly, has let our secret slip and,”

“And all but threatened my life,” Magda cut in. 

“He can be difficult,” Vlad said, clearly trying to be tactful. 

“That’s one way of putting it.”

“Listen, I’m here because I want to put you at ease. My father won’t,”

“Won’t hurt me? Bite me? I’m not seeing how you’re going to keep him from doing that when you’re not here.” 

Vlad sighed and held his palms face up, like he meant for Magda to take his hands. 

“My father is impulsive and he can be mercurial,”

“You can just say dick.”

“But I swear he will not harm you. I will not allow it.” Vlad sounded so serious and so final, like he was enacting a decree, that Magda wanted to genuinely believe him. 

“I think I’ll remain skeptical of that,” Magda said, turning away. 

“Listen here,” Vlad said, sounded frustrated.

“Don’t listen here to me,” Magda said, turning on her heal. “I’m not a child.”

“You’re acting like one, especially after I’ve just said,”

“I’m 27! And you’re, what, maybe 20?” Magda snapped, knowing he was older than that but feeling spiteful. 

“I’m 23, thank you, and I am,” Vlad drew up short, rocking back on his heels and seemingly trying to calm himself. “I’m here not only to tell you my father won’t hurt you but also to… to warn you against letting others know about us.” 

“Warn me?” Magda tightly crossed her arms over her chest, skeptical of Vlad as he attempted a pleading tone with her. 

“That wasn’t want I meant, I-" Vlad’s phone rang and he sighed as he pulled it out of the inside breast pocket of his jacket. 

“Ingrid,” Vlad said, answering the call. There was silence and then Ingrid could clearly be heard, demanding that she be put on speaker. Vlad complied, holding the phone in his palm and out so that Magda could ostensibly hear.

“Magda is under my protection, Baby Brother,” Ingrid stated flatly. “If one hair is even so much as harmed,”

“Ingrid, there’s no need for the shovel talk, I’m working things out with Father.”

“Father? Father isn’t the one I’m concerned about. He knows I’ll rip off both his arms and impale him with them,” Ingrid threatened and Magda had the vaguest sense that she’d heard that threat before. 

“You seriously think I’m here to hurt Magda?”

“I seem to recall you’re rather fond of memory charms. Can’t say if you’re any better at it than the last time you made the attempt-"

“I’ll have you know-”

“Listen good, Baby Brother, if even the fleeting thought of scrambling her brain happens to cross that sad gray goo you call a prefrontal cortex I will make your life a living hell. You can count on it.” Vlad was silent as he aimed for composure, whatever conversation he had anticipated having clearly been derailed. 

“Message loud and clear,” Vlad said tightly. “But on to the other matter of protecting-"

“Afraid of the villagers finding out we’re vampires? You sound more and more like dear old dad with every passing day.”

“I am _trying_ to protect _all_ of us. Magda included. A breather running around saying the Manor is full of vampires? How long until someone gets curious and investigates?” 

“Magda won’t tell a soul,” Ingrid said confidently. 

“She won’t, won’t she?” Vlad scoffed.

“Ingrid's right,” Magda finally said, piping in. “I won’t tell anyone. I can’t. Who would believe me? I… I hardly believe it.” 

Vlad sighed again, looking down at the ground a moment, the lingering sunlight shining off his hair and picking up the lighter tones. 

“Fine. Have it your way. But if word gets out then the deals off.” Vlad looked to Magda, his brow furrowed as he grew serious once more. “I will protect my family. I’ll… I’ll use the full force of the Vampire Council,” Vlad said sternly even as he waivered at the threat. 

“Sir, yes, Sir,” Magda said, giving him a mocking salute, and couldn’t help but smile as Ingrid began cackling, ending the call not long after so that Vlad was stood there looking flustered. 

“I… I can walk you back, if you’d like,” Vlad offered stiffly after a moment. 

“Lead on,” Magda replied, gesturing for Vlad to start the walk back to the manor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Call back! Literary reference is Wilkie Collins "The Woman in White".


	19. *Humble A Man So*

“I know that look,” the Count whined. He was slouched down in his chair, having asked Magda to eat dinner with him in the solarium. Normally the room was shuttered off but it was late and a storm was rolling through, the rain loud against the glass roof.

Magda firmly pressed her lips together, her leg bouncing as she tried to contain herself.

“You have questions. Boring questions.”

“They’re not boring,” Magda was defensive as she replied, hugging her arms tight to herself, too wound up to eat the lovely carbonara Marie had prepared. 

“Oh please, hundreds of years of living doesn’t magically mean breathers want to know anything different. It’s always garlic this and crucifixes that and yes very obviously the sun can do me harm. I think we’ve established that,” the Count said, throwing his hand up at the ceiling as if to say this was why they were in the solarium so late in the evening. 

“Well then why even have a solarium if you can’t enjoy it? 

“A bit of danger to make things exciting,” the Count replied, straightening up in his chair so that he could grab his wine glass. Magda knew it was full of wine because Renfield had served her wine from the same bottle as the Count was now drinking but she couldn’t help the sneaking suspicion it was blood. “And who’s to say I can’t enjoy this room at night? I see perfectly fine,” the Count pronounced, turning to look out at the grounds as the rain grew in ferocity and a sheet of water battered at the glass. 

Magda gave a noncommittal hum and managed a few bites before she was leaning toward the Count.

“What can you see?” Magda didn’t mean to sound breathless as she questioned the Count but it felt impossible not to be a little giddy.

“Out there? I know your mortal senses are weak but surely you can see how abysmal it is out. How the rain is coming down in droves. How the clouds are swirling above us so thickly not even a single star can be seen. How the trees in the distance bend beneath this gale as if they mean to snap.” Magda shivered as she realized the Count was no longer looking out but directly at her. “The tall grass thrashes back and forth, as if in ecstasy with the wind, humbled by such power.” 

Magda picked up her wine and took a deep drink of it. 

“It’s not what I can just see either. I can hear the tones of the wind as it howls. The fat drops of the rain against the earth and the Manor. I can sense the vibration of the Manor as it shudders against the storm.” The Count moved slightly closer to Magda as he began to whisper, “And in the quiet, how ever rare, I can hear your soft breaths and the beating of your heart. Your hair is like silk as it moves against your dress. I can smell your curiosity. Your desire as your cheeks blush.” Magda, unable to hold the Count’s gaze any longer, looked down at her plate. “I can smell the sun on your skin, even after you’ve bathed. I can always smell it. Sometimes I can still feel it on your skin and it burns in the most delicious way.” 

Magda took another deep swallow of her wine, steadfastly not looking at the Count. 

“I can tell when you’re afraid. When you’re apprehensive. When you’re angry with me,” the Count said, smiling as he rose to his feet. “I can tell, from the beating of your heart, when you want me to touch you,” the Count said softly, moving so that he stood beside Magda. He held his hand out and Magda looked to his hand, heavy with gold jewelry. 

Magda saw her own hand rising to meet his more than realized she was taking his hand. It wasn’t until the Count had gently tugged her to her feet that she realized she was melting into the Count’s arms. 

She was wearing her orange colored dress again, the one with the tiny buttons at the neck, and the touch of the Count’s cool hand against her bare back made her shiver. Magda was pressed against him from thigh to breast and couldn’t help the magnetic pull of wanting to dip her head to kiss him. 

“I have been monstrous to you of late,” the Count whispered, his lips ghosting over her cheek before pressing against her temple. “I wish to make it up to you.” Magda let the Count gently push her head to the side so that her neck was bared to him. She almost moaned when she felt his hand find the slit of her dress and clutch at her thigh, his nails pressing into her skin in such a way that it was the strange sensation between tickling and being a bite. 

“Let me make love to you,” the Count said, pressing slow kisses on the underside of her jaw and down the bit of her throat that wasn’t covered by the neckline of her dress. 

Magda, not realizing she had closed her eyes at some point, opened her eyes just barely to look at the Count, turning her head just so. His lips were darker from the wine he had been drinking and although his cheeks weren’t flushed his pupils were blown wide with desire. 

“I,” Magda began, suddenly unable to articulate anything. She just nodded her head but the Count still paused and finally Magda found her voice enough to say, “I want that.”

It shouldn’t have been a surprise when the Count lead her down, not up, to where his rooms were located. They walked down a flight of stone steps and Magda shivered in the cooler air, pressing against the Count’s side as he brought her to his room. 

There was a coffin in his room, large and opulent, but there was also a bed that looked… well it looked sinful. There were heavy, draped, curtains tied up at each of the four posts of the bed and the mound of pillows at the head nearly hid the intricately carved headboard. The sheets were soft looking and plush, as if Magda would be enveloped in a soft black cloud as she laid back on the bed. 

The room was dimly lit by one electric scones but a flick of the Count’s wrist and the room was enveloped in a warm glow as the candles scattered about the room ignited. 

Magda gasped in surprise, looking to the Count as if asking him to confirm he had just done that but he just smiled and drew her further into the room. 

“Music?” the Count asked, gesturing toward the record player in the room. There was a soft click as the record player turned on and then a moment of static silence and from there the room was softly filled with a piano and cello duo.

“Now, where were we?” The Count drew Magda close and let his mouth meet hers, his lips cool against her own but warming as he deepened the kiss. Magda gasped every time his nails scratched a little too firmly into her back or her thigh. 

Feeling light headed, and glad that the Count was holding her so tight, Magda tilted her head back, her breaths heavy as she tried to calm down a touch. Every time she had gone to draw his mouth tighter to hers she had felt the sharp sting of his fangs and it made her relent. 

“I could drink from your lips for the rest of my days,” the Count said heatedly, kissing her cheek, her jaw, her shoulder. He drew her leg forward and around his hip, his cock a thick line pressing between her legs. 

Magda smiled and gave a smothered laugh as the Count brought her up enough to reclaim her lips, his tongue sliding against hers for a moment. The sandal on her raised leg falling off. 

“Do you laugh at me, Madame?” the Count asked, clearly not offended as he fought from laughing as well. Magda, panting now, chuckled and lightly tugged at the Count’s hair. 

“I am laughing, sir,” Magda replied, stretching up on her toes so she could bite at his chin, feeling playful.

“But do you laugh at me?” The Count asked, holding her tight to his chest and lifting her off her feet as he whirled them about. Her other sandal flying off.

Magda cried out excitedly and gave a quick shriek as the Count tossed her onto the bed.

“No, sir, I’m not laughing at you but I do laugh,” Magda said in between actual laughter as the Count crawled up the bed and hovered over her.

“What temptress you are to quarrel with me so,” the Count said and playfully growled as he dove for her neck, kissing her through the fabric of her dress.

Magda gladly pulled the Count closer, moaning as he finally pressed his full weight against her.

“I would kiss all of you if you would let me,” the Count said, his face above Magda’s, his lips glossy and distracting as Magda couldn’t tear her gaze away.

“What’s stopping you?” Magda asked and giggled as the Count drew her up, kissing her, his own lips splitting into a grin as they both laughed as the Count fumbled to undo the buttons at her neck. 

“What witchcraft is this?” the Count fumed, pulling the both of them into a sitting position. 

“70s fashion,” Magda replied and slipped off the side of the bed so that she could move around to stand at the foot, her hair flipped over one shoulder as she carefully undid the buttons. Mercifully the buttons came undone one by one, literally the only time Magda hadn’t outright struggled to get out of the dress.

Using one hand to keep the top pressed to her breast, Magda reached around with her other hand and undid the zipper at the back. The music from the record player lulled for a brief second and Magda bit down on her bottom lip as she looked at the Count in the silence of the room. He was still fully dressed, including his boots, but he looked completely disheveled. 

“My flower, you are keeping me in unbearable suspense,” the Count urged, his voice dropping an octave. Magda shrank a bit as the chill of the room crept up on her and she quickly let her dress fall to the floor before her nerve left her. 

The Count groaned, one hand palming his groin as he stared at Magda, his gaze roving from her face to her breasts to her hips and down her legs. Magda hooked her thumbs over her underwear and started to pull them down her hips but the Count raised his hand to her, silently asking her to stop, and he glided off the bed in one liquid move so that he was knelt before her.

“Allow me,” the Count husked, his mouth right at her navel. Magda nodded her head, fighting back a shiver as the Count’s cool hands touched her. As he pulled her underwear down his head dipped lower until he could kiss the crease of where her thigh met her hip. 

Magda clutched at the Count’s head as she stepped out of her underwear and the Count, instead of letting her rest her foot back down, drew her leg over his shoulder and began to kiss and lick and moan into her. 

Wavering on one leg Magda held steady for as long as she could but eventually begged for the Count to let her go as her leg trembled and she felt his tongue slide teasingly into her. She had nearly buckled under the touch. 

“I’m going to fall,” Magda warned and the Count relented just enough so that he could direct her to sit at the edge of the bed before his head was once more between her thighs, his hands wrapped around each ankle so that he could draw her legs up and hold her open.

“Pick a number,” the Count said.

“What?” Magda looked down at the Count, confused for a moment. “Um, seventeen?” 

“Ambitious but I am up for the challenge,” the Count said and surged forward, using his nose to part her folds enough so that his lips could find her clit. Magda moaned, her hips lifting to the Count’s mouth and then falling as the sensation became immediately overwhelming.

“What do you mean?” Magda asked, her hands grasping at the bedsheets to keep from ripping at the Count’s hair in excitement. 

“It’s the number of times I am going to make you come,” the Count said, drawing back for a moment, his tongue running along his bottom lip before he drew it forward and bit down on it. 

Magda felt her eyes go large, the bold statement enticing but also seeming doubtful.

“If you insist,” Magda said, her words ending on a moan as the Count went back to kissing her. Almost too quickly Magda came under the insistent press of the Count’s tongue against her clit, the pleasure sharp and zipping across her skin like lightening. 

Magda threaded her fingers in the Count’s hair as he made the slow but deliberate trek up her body, kissing her at intervals until his lips met her breast and he took her nipple into his mouth. Magda writhed under the Count, aching to pull him closer as his tongue played across her but mindful that she could feel his fangs against her skin as well. 

“You should take this off,” Magda said, tugging at the Count’s jacket even as it felt thrilling to have him entirely clothed above her. The wool of his jacket was a heavy contrast to the smooth velvet of his tongue.

“In due time,” the Count assured her, finally bringing his mouth back to hers, his kiss almost purposefully sloppy as he thrust his tongue into her mouth. Magda’s moan as the Count slid not one but two fingers inside of her was muffled by the Count’s own mouth but when he touched his thumb against her clit and began to make tight little circles Magda tore her face away. She threw her arm up and over her face, biting down on the skin she could reach to keep from almost screaming as she moaned. 

“There are no secrets here,” the Count said, his fingers pressing up and rubbing determinedly inside of her. “Let me hear you.” 

Magda moved her arm away enough and let out an earthy moan, fighting against the sensation of too much and not enough as the Count brought her to orgasm again. This time it was as if a pool of fire tipped outward from where the Count touched her, a deep pulse radiating from the tips of his fingers as Magda squirmed beneath him. 

“So impatient,” the Count chided playfully. Magda watched as the Count withdrew his fingers from inside of her and brought them up to his lips to suck on. He moaned around his fingers, rings and all, rising up on his knees so he could palm himself again as he licked his fingers clean. 

“A finer cream could never be found,” the Count said approvingly and Magda, much to her surprise, blushed profusely, her knees instinctively drawing up to shield herself. 

“No, no,” the Count said, “There will be no shame in this room tonight.” The Count appeared to slither backwards until he was kneeling at the foot of the bed again, his sure hands grabbing Magda’s hips and pulling her forward.

“Wait,” Magda cautioned, sitting up and placing her hand in front of the Count’s mouth. “I think… I think I need a minute.” The Count smirked and gave her inner thigh a light kiss but backed away, moving to stand. 

It felt like every odd move or so she could still feel his mouth on her clit or his fingers thrusting inside of her and it sent small shockwaves through her. 

“As my lady commands,” the Count said graciously and slowly began to undress. Magda watched with rapt attention as the Count undid each button of his jacket, his movements precise even as he shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it aside. Underneath his jacket was a tunic style shirt and he leisurely untucked it from his pants before reaching up to undo the cravat at this throat. He was even more careful with the delicate fabric of the cravat, making sure to carefully set it aside on the bed, before he loosened the laces of his tunic. 

Magda didn’t even realize she was biting her bottom lip until she felt it sting as her mouth dropped open in shock. The Count removed his tunic, leaving him in just his pants and boots, and underneath the black cloth of his tunic he was covered from belt to throat and up each arm in black tattoos. They were varied in theme and craft, some of the lines amateurishly thick and others precisely fine. The oldest and faintest looking tattoo was some sort of script just below his left collar bone. 

“You do humble a man so,” the Count said darkly, his gaze hungry as he toed his boots off and approached the bed, his hips fitting between Magda’s knees that hung over the edge. 

“I had no idea,” Magda said, her hands running over his skin before she even thought to stop. 

The Count pulled her into a kiss, his grip firm as he held on to her hair, and Magda could faintly taste herself on his lips. 

“A pastime of mine,” the Count offered once their lips finally parted. Feeling bold, Magda ran her palms down the Count’s chest, ending at his belt and letting her left hand wander over the front of his pants so she could rub at his erection. 

Magda held the Count’s gaze as she undid his belt and the zip of his trousers, her hands faintly trembling as she pushed his underwear aside and drew his cock forward. 

“C-condoms,” Magda stuttered as she looked down at the Count’s cock, her memory clearly not having failed her as the Count was still as thick and long as she remembered from their encounter before.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Please tell me you have condoms this time,” Magda begged. The Count, his brow pinched, was quiet a moment as he tried to parse through what she was asking and Magda had to force herself to stop stroking him. 

“Damnation,” the Count cursed and hung his head. 

“Not even one?” Magda asked in disbelief and collapsed backward, covering her face with both hands. How? How was this happening again? 

“I can assure you I am equally distraught,” the Count confessed and Magda heard him shuffle until he had stepped out of his trousers. She uncovered her face when she felt the Count lift her up and move her further up the bed, stretching his long frame beside hers. “There are still many things we can do that don’t involve my cock inside that lovely cunt of yours,” the Count assured her and Magda tensed as things low inside of her pulsed. 

“Oh-ho!” the Count softly cried. “Do I detect a wicked streak?” Magda, as flush as she was, still managed to blush as the Count pulled her close and chuckled against her ear. 

“Tell me, if I were to whisper filth into your ear, would you come from my voice alone?” Magda squeezed her thighs tight together as the Count pitched his voice low, almost ending in a growl. “What if I told you of the fantasies I have of feasting on your cunt at the dinner table? Of how, when you talk of the grounds, I so desperately want to find myself hilt deep inside of you, the grass scratching at my back as you ride me?” Magda just nodded her head, her breath coming heavier as the Count spoke. “Your mouth, drives me to distraction, but after you took me deep into your throat,” the Count groaned and his hips rolled against her, his cock, seemingly unlike the rest of him, hot as a branding iron against her hip and stomach. “I have touched myself every night since thinking of your mouth. I come crying your name.” 

Magda rolled toward the Count, pushing him to his back so that she could stretch over him, his cock trapped against their stomachs. 

“I am forever half hard in your presence,” the Count confessed on a groan, his hips rolling beneath her.

“I don’t know what is the greater torture,” the Count drew Magda into a searing kiss, parting on a gasp, “having known the feeling of you surrounding me for even a brief moment or never having been able to feel you come around me.” Magda cursed as she shook above the Count, half sure she nearly came at his confession. 

“Stop talking,” Magda urged and let herself fall to the side, the Count following her as he kissed her again, his hands grasping at any spare bit of flesh he could reach. 

Magda threaded her fingers through the Count’s hair and lightly tugged on the long locks, thrilled as the Count groaned. Magda tightened her grip as the Count groaned louder, tipping her head back and gasping for air as the Count’s hips settled between her thighs and his cock began to slide against her clit. 

The Count kept a gentle rocking motion for a moment, chuckling as Magda twisted about until she finally released the Count’s hair so she could fling both hands above her head and brace herself against the headboard. 

Magda’s breath came in short stutters as she began to shake from the sensation of the Count thrusting between her thighs, the feel of his cock nearly unbearable from the overstimulation. 

With a shout Magda came, her legs kicking out and wrapping around the Count’s hips so she could hold him tight against her, stalling his thrusts. 

The unbearable tension suddenly gone, Magda utterly collapsed on the bed, her straining arms falling to either side of her head as her heart hammered inside of her chest and she labored for breath like she had been running. 

Magda looked up at the Count and couldn’t help smiling even though she wasn’t sure why she was smiling. The Count smiled in return, his fangs on full display and Magda shivered as the sight caused an electric zing to race across her skin. 

“Not to fear,” the Count said, “It’s merely from the excitement.” The Count shifted between her thighs and Magda recoiled as the brush against her clit was too much. 

“I can’t,” Magda whined, drawing her legs up to tuck against herself so that the Count wasn’t touching her. Belatedly she felt a wetness on her stomach and looked to see that the Count must have come near to the same time she had. 

“As you wish,” the Count murmured, stretching as he slowly got up from the bed, walking towards another door in the room. The Count disappeared for a moment before reappearing at the side of the bed, leaning over to lift Magda into his arms.

“W-what?” Magda stuttered, tensing at being lifted. The Count just gave a toothy grin, not even faltering a step, and carried Magda into what was the bathroom.

There was a steaming bathtub full of water and the shower, an open affair off to one corner, was on. Magda took a moment to marvel at the bathroom. It was done in soft grays and jewel tone blues, leaning heavily into the aesthetic that they were all but in an underground cave. 

“I hope you don’t mind sharing,” the Count said, walking under the spray of the overly large shower head and slowly lowering Magda until her feet touched the warm tiles below. 

The Count kept his arms firmly around her, holding her up as Magda’s legs shook until she could stand on her own, and even then the Count didn’t stop touching her.

“I haven’t anything flowery like you prefer,” the Count said, picking up an unmarked bottle, and pouring what was shampoo into his hand.

“Not flowery,” Magda corrected, “Lilacs. I like lilacs.” The Count hummed in reply before gently massaging the shampoo into her hair, his fingers so strong and sure along her scalp that Magda had to close her eyes. 

The scent of the shampoo was something deep but lightened by the zesty smell of oranges. Magda couldn’t help but tuck her face against the Count’s shoulder to take in the smell better as they helped each other wash their hair and skin clean. 

They spoke very little to each other, even as the Count turned off the shower and directed Magda to the still steaming bath. The slippery dance of fitting both their bodies into the large bath caused giggles but Magda relaxed into the Count’s arms and sighed as she rested against him. 

“You can rest here for as long as you wish,” the Count said, gesturing towards the bedroom, “but if you would prefer your own bed,” the Count drifted off, letting Magda decide. 

“I’ll stay the night,” Magda whispered, content to just rest in the bathtub a while longer. The Count kissed her cheek in reply and Magda let herself drift. 

**Author's Note:**

> Like a lot of people these last 7+ months have been rough and I have gone through spurts of being really motivated to write and not so motivated to write. I've finally gotten tired of waiting for inspiration to strike to post a more complete product so everything in the Summer Slump series will be a WIP with varying degrees of editing.


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